Best Enemies
by AlineDaryen
Summary: A misdirected spell brings Harry Potter much closer to his former rival than he would ever have wished. But it seems Draco Malfoy is not what he used to be… Slash, 8th year, EWE.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary: **A misdirected spell brings Harry Potter much closer to his former rival than he would ever have wished. But it seems Draco Malfoy is not what he used to be… Slash, 8th year, EWE.

**Author's Note: **This story of mine has originally been written in Czech (and it's complete, so no worries) and I'm working on this English translation myself, therefore all trespasses against the English language fall to my lot and I apologize in advance. Please, feel free to point out any mistakes. Thanks to my best friend Iveta for her unfailing support!

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**Chapter 1**

I.

Draco Malfoy was sitting on the stone edge of the fountain, absent-mindedly scowling on his reflection in the water and playing with the long fringe falling over one eye to his lips. Apart from him, there were a few other eighth-years in the yard waiting for the last afternoon lesson to begin, but no Slytherins. Not many of them came back to Hogwarts after the war. A lot of children from Death Eater families moved abroad to live with relatives, several died in the Final Battle.

He didn't have much of a choice. Both his parents were in Azkaban, their manor and assets confiscated by the Ministry. He could have changed his name and started from scratch somewhere, but his Dark Mark branded him forever anyway. So, in an act of sheer hopelessness, he went back to school.

In fact, it wasn't much of a change. He'd never had many friends and for the last two years, he has been left completely on his own. Even now everyone shunned him – not because of fear, though. They probably despised him or simply didn't care. He didn't care either. He enjoyed loneliness, it went well with the vast empty space left after the unceasing fear for his life, for his family's honor and social standing… There was nothing to worry about now.

It gave him a feeling of absolute freedom.

And it shattered him to pieces.

Someone spoke loudly. He looked up. Granger argued with Weasley about something or other, but in a minute they both laughed and kissed. They seemed happy, unlike Potter, who was staring with an empty look somewhere over their heads. The Hero. The Boy Who Lived.

Draco stood up and went to the door. He felt dizzy and his stomach clenched in a sick way. It didn't stop him, though, from suddenly wanting to crash into Potter, trip him or at the very least whisper something rude to him, like in the good old times. An unexpected rush of strength and energy came over him and he realised his lips were forming a smirk of their own volition. He knew it was a seriously bad idea and he was probably going to be sorry afterwards, but it was too tempting. Especially when he noticed the Weaselette running towards Potter over the yard in a terribly silly, clingy fashion.

He didn't stop to wonder why Potter sidestepped her. With exactly the right amount of force he knocked Potter with his shoulder. Potter stumbled, hand darting forward with a lightning fast reflex and caught his arm. Something weird touched Draco's spine, as if someone poured tepid water over his back.

Blinking, he shook Potter's hand off and swerved around. On the other side of the yard stood the loony Ravenclaw girl, mouth hanging open. Her wand was still trained on him. Shaking with anger, he started toward her.

After he'd taken two or three steps, a terrible pain shot through his whole body. It reminded him of the Cruciatus curse, a thousand knives and razors and worst nightmares slithering out of the depths of the night… There came a pained scream and then he collapsed.

II.

Hell, no. Ginny. He should finally tell her the truth. That he feels nothing. For her nor for anybody else. Even the memories of all the dead stopped hurting. He was floating in vacuum. Just like in that moment between life and death while he was talking to Dumbledore and time stood still.

All was well. There was nothing to fight for. Nobody to fight with. For all his life he craved exactly this – and now he had it.

Harry sidestepped Ginny and got a hard shove against his shoulder. Quickly, he reached out and grabbed somebody's robes, regaining balance.

_Malfoy._

Anger boiled up in his blood along with something like joy. Exactly what he needed – to have someone make him really pissed. Someone like this git with smudges of black stuff all around his eyes who can't see a bleeding thing over his stupid hair. This…

Then he felt something warm sliding over his side, a bit like a tentacle. He threw a quick, surprised look around, but he didn't see anything amiss. Suddenly a strange weakness came over him. Malfoy stepped away from his grasp and all the hell broke loose.

Harry had been in pain quite often in his life and that's how he knew that it was not a thing you ever get used to. It can be suffered through, overcome, forgotten, but the first moments are always terrible. This time it was more terrible than ever. Something ripped the flesh off his bones and burned his insides to ashes. Hermione was saying something in an anxious tone, Ron kept stuttering and there was the loud sound of Ginny's hard breathing. And the screaming, of course.

He rallied all his strength and managed to push the pain to the background. He opened his eyes, but couldn't see a thing through tears. He blinked hard. The faces hovering above him… It was such a tragically familiar situation.

The screams changed into sobbing. Harry himself kept his mouth shut with such determination that he was getting a cramp in his jaw. He let go a little trying to take a proper breath, but the pain sensed an opportunity and renewed the attack in full force.

"Take him to the infirmary!" he heard Hermione say. "Don't use any spells!"

Someone, probably Ron, grabbed him under the arms, but as soon as he moved him an inch the pain doubled. He must have cried out because Ron immediately let him go.

He had no strength of will left, so he gave up and succumbed to the claws ripping his heart out – and suddenly it was getting better. He felt someone coming to the rescue and got half-way up on his elbows to meet them. A wave of warmth crashed over him. Getting on all fours and then on his knees with difficulty, he reached out.

"Merlin's pants!" Ron yelped.

But the wonderful person who made the pain go away held him in their arms already and he laid his head on their shoulder, slipped his hands on their lower back and huddled as close as possible in bliss. The torture dissolved into echoes and aftershocks. He felt momentarily sleepy and it took quite a struggle to open his eyes. He must have lost his glasses at some point, so he narrowed his eyes, focusing, and looked up.

White skin and hair of such a light shade that it almost looked silver.

Malfoy?

He'll kill the bastard. Now or never.

III.

Did he really hold Harry Potter in his arms or was it only a weird kind of dream?

Worst thing was that Draco didn't have the strength to let go of him. The pain had receded, a calming warmth seeping through his body instead, but those few moments left him quite powerless. He would faint as soon as he stopped holding tight.

The boy desperately clinging to him suddenly went still and rigid. Apparently, he had just discovered the identity of his unvoluntary companion. Unlike Draco, though, he let go immediately and jerked away.

"What's going on?" he said in a harsh voice laced with unconcealed anger.

"I have no idea," Granger squeaked. Funny, at least there's something she doesn't know, Draco thought. "Luna and Dean were carrying him to the door, when you both, well, you know…"

"It's my fault," said a dreamy voice. "I hit them with a love spell."

What?

„What?" shouted Weasley. Not even the status of a hero cured him of his boorish manners.

Draco pulled the last dregs of his strength together, slid his hands from Potter's back and put them on the other boy's knees. He kept leaning his forehead on Potter's shoulder. That way he didn't have to look anyone in the eye.

"I was aiming at Harry and Ginny, of course. I couldn't have known Draco would push him."

Potter moaned. Draco was busy trying not to laugh. If the situation were not so humiliating, it would be incredibly funny. He was going to kill Lovegood very slowly as soon as he managed to get up and then hang various parts of her dead body on nearby trees.

"I'll end it. _Finite incantatem_!"

Potter brushed him off like an especially disgusting piece of filth, staggered to his feet and took a step back among his friends. His face was chalk-white and his eyes narrowed into slits. Carefully, he made another step backwards.

Draco was very glad he'd stayed crumpled on the ground. The pain sliced right through his chest. It was clear from the alarmed shouts that Potter was experiencing something fairly similar. Then Lovegood's unperturbed voice broke through the ruckus. "It doesn't work."

The Golden Boy kneeled before him again, clenching his fingers into Draco's shoulders with a grim expression. Draco meekly spread his hands on Potter's knees, staring sideways to the ground determinedly. It was absolutely certain that they were in big trouble, but he couldn't muster the energy to be much worried about it. There was a buzzing in his ears and he felt an overwhelming desire to curl on Potter's lap and sleep it all through. The only thing stopping him were the last remnants of his pride.

"It must work!" snapped the Weaselette out of nowhere. "Or Malfoy must have messed it up somehow. I found the spell in the library with Luna, it's quite a simple one, really. If you cast it on someone who is seriously interested in you, he'll declare his love, nothing more. It shouldn't have been painful. It shouldn't have worked in the first place! It only works on people who are already in love with each other!" Her voice rised in hysterics. "They… They are both boys!"

"Congratulations, Potter," said Draco in a strained whisper. "You've managed to find true innocence."

"Shut the fuck up, ferret."

Draco almost winced. There was such seething hatred in those words it made his hair rise. He looked up. Green eyes burned with anger the likes of which he'd last seen in the red snake-like orbs of the Dark Lord.

His body reacted automatically. He felt his face changing into an expressionless mask, his shoulders straightening and everything except drilled reflexes and cold reason retreating far behind safe walls.

Of all the things his father beat into him, this one seemed to be the most useful in the end.

IV.

They were sitting together on the edge of an infirmary bed. Too close to each other. Harry's hands were shaking and sharp pain pulsed rhythmically in his temples, but he didn't really feel it because everything paled in face of the terrible scorching anger coursing through him. He tried to fight it, but all the emotions he kept hidden and under control for months flooded him at once and swept through all the barriers.

And it was Malfoy's fault. The name alone produced such a whirlwind of indescribable emotions that he nearly blacked out whenever it crossed his mind. He grinded his teeth and made himself pay attention to his surroundings.

Ginny had just returned from the library with a dowdy little book in which she and Luna had found the spell. She handed it to the Headmistress and collapsed into Ron's arms in tears. McGonagall, Hermione and Madam Pomfrey leaned over the manuscript eagerly and started reading in silence. Luna stood a bit apart from the others, wand stuck behind her ear, head tilted to the side, watching him and Malfoy with keen interest like a child admiring a dinosaur's skeleton in a museum.

Almost everyone in the room had already tried to end the strange spell with Finite Incantatem. Hermione and McGonagall attempted more sophisticated counterspells, too, but nothing worked and the situation only got progressively worse. The bond protested at the slightest move now.

Harry's headache gained force and was slowly spreading from both sides to his forehead, but then it got better. He realized he was leaning unconciously towards the other boy. His anger flared anew. He gave Malfoy a hateful look, but his face was shielded by the stupid fringe from this side and he sat ramrod straight, hands folded in his lap, totally unmoved like a statue. Harry shifted an inch vindictively. Malfoy didn't even flinch, while he himself contracted a bad case of cold sweat at once.

With great effort, Harry managed to ignore the shadows creeping into his vision and concetrated on the three women studying the book. Hermione pointed out something in the text and shook her head. The Headmistress pursed up her lips and came over.

"Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy, may I have your attention?"

Harry nodded, noticing Malfoy doing the same in peripheral vision.

"Unfortunately, we haven't found any solution to your problem yet. Your symptoms do not in the least comply with the spell's effects as described in the book. I trust we will find something very soon though. Now, I have a few questions and it would be in your best interest to answer them truthfully. Do you feel any… mental connection beside the physical bond?"

"Do you count the fact that I hate him?" Harry said before he could have stopped himself.

"My feelings towards him have not changed in any way," said Malfoy in an expressionless tone of voice.

The Headmistress gave them a reproachful look, laced with a bit of sadness for some reason. "Decribe the effects of the spell as you perceive them, Mr. Potter. In as great a detail as you can."

Harry tried hard, but the right words escaped him. How do you desribe pain? And the terrible sense of awkwardness and humiliation? He didn't want to think about it. He should have disappeared after the war, changed his name and started anew among the Muggles.

Apparently, McGonagall wasn't very happy with his incoherent rambling, but he didn't care.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

To Harry's immense rage, the blond described their condition in precise words, speaking in the confident tone he used when answering some impossibly difficult question Snape asked him in Potions class. The memory of his former teacher didn't help in dispersing Harry's foul mood, actually, it had quite the opposite effect. His anger mixed with guilt and other emotions promptly followed in its wake.

"Mr. Potter!"

It seemed McGonagall had been attempting to get his attention for a while now.

"I'm afraid I will have to ask you to stand up. It is absolutely necessary for me and Madam Pomfrey to actually see the symptoms of the spell in full extent."

His heart beat like mad. "No!" He could get over the pain, that was not a problem, but he knew too well how it would end. He had to touch the prat twice already and had no intention to do it for a third time. He'd rather die.

"You know I would not ask it of you unless it were absolutely necessary."

Malfoy turned to him and Harry could finally look into his eyes. They were light grey, eerie and gave away no trace of emotion at all.

We'll see how long before something shows, Harry thought. Until now, he's always lost.

He stood up, not taking his eyes off Malfoy's for even a second. Malfoy didn't try to look away. He simply rose gracefully, like the aristocrat he was, and faced him as if they were going to duel.

"Take a step back, please, gentlemen."

The sense of heaviness and oppression gave way to an uncomfortable itch. Harry's head threatened to explode.

"One more."

Flames licked Harry's insides and the taste of blood suffused his mouth. He didn't collapse only from sheer strength of will, blinking, still standing straight. Malfoy went horribly pale, his lips becoming nearly blue, but surprisingly, he didn't give up, keeping an indifferent air instead as if his mind were miles away. It made Harry's anger burn white-hot. He took another two steps back.

The fire devoured him. His skin blistered, cracked, oozing pus and blood, and his bones crumbled to dust. He was unconsious before he hit the ground.

* * *

Ron and Luna helped them get the two boys to a small room in a corridor behind the infirmary. Afterwards, McGonagall sent them away, no discussions allowed. Nobody had anything against Hermione staying, though. The Headmistress conjured a second hospital bed right next to the one already there. "Help Madam Pomfrey to take the boys' robes off, Miss Granger. We cannot risk using any more spells on them for a few hours at least."

Hermione took Harry's robes off gently, her throat tight and eyes brimming with tears. She was beyond furious. How could Ginny and Luna behave in such an irresponsible manner? Both have gone through the war, they should have been more grown-up than this! Sure, Harry treated Ginny in a horrible way lately…

Lost in thought, she caught a chance glimpse of Malfoy's form and gasped. She'd never seen him dressed in anything but wizarding robes or school uniform – expensive trousers, neatly pressed shirt and a Slytherin tie. Now he was wearing faded ripped jeans and a white T-shirt with a glittering silver emblem on the front. One-hundred-percent Muggle and not the best quality available either. What shocked her even more though was his emaciated state. The school robes were hiding protruding collarbones, unhealthily thin arms and impossibly lean hips. With the sinister mark on his forearm and the fringe overlaying one eye he reminded her of the androgynous creatures she often saw over the holidays while shopping for clothes in London with Ginny.

She was still staring at him in fascination when Harry moved. Before they could stop him, he rolled over to Malfoy who took a loud breath, reached out blindly and grasped Harry's arm, instinctively pulling him close. Harry snuggled to him and with surprising gentleness, Malfoy hugged him, letting Harry burrow his head under his chin contentedly. Then there was only the sound of deep, regular breathing.

Hermione could not stop looking. It was wrong, yet at the same time beautiful. Against all logic, they matched well. There was calmness in Harry's face, something she hadn't seen there for a long time, and Malfoy's sharp features softened in sleep, allowing his almost feminine beauty to shine.

"There's a thin line between love and hate," the Headmistress said.

"Do you think the spell simply couldn't tell those two things apart?"

"Hard to say. The symptoms do not correspond with the spell's description, as you see, but the over-all effect is quite clear. They can't be apart."

"I never understood what makes them dislike each other so violently. I don't care for Malfoy at all and there were times he really made me mad, but with them, it's something more. A kind of obsession. In sixth year I almost started to think…" She left the sentence unfinished and shook her head.

McGonagall sighed. "Let's hope they won't kill each other till morning. Mr. Potter has a tendency to be a bit rash occasionally. Come, Miss Granger, we have lots to do."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:** Big thanks to everyone who reviewed, especially to **piglett** for being my first reviewer ever, and also to everyone who put this story on alert or on their Favorite List! You made all this worthwhile.

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**Chapter 2**

I.

Harry couldn't remember the last time he slept so well. Something jabbed his side painfully but he was warm and his pillow had a very nice smell. And the terrible agony was gone completely… Agony?

In a flash, Harry remembered all that happened yesterday in the afternoon and opened his eyes. His glasses were gone but he immediately realized the thing under him was definitely not a pillow. He went absolutely still. The chest over which he was draped so comfortably kept rising and falling in a slow rhythm. He even heard the heartbeat. And there was an arm lying right before his eyes, the whiteness marred by a black stain. Malfoy.

He couldn't move. As minutes went by he noticed other things too. The light in the room was dim like at the break of dawn. Malfoy's other arm loosely hugged his shoulders and the sharp thing jammed against his side was a hipbone. He had no memory of falling asleep like this, the room seemed completely foreign either. The last thing he remembered was being angry, in excruciating pain, watching Malfoy's face. Something made him mad… oh, yes, that git with his bloody impervious attitude and then –

No. Not that again. At least hitting him with Snape's little curse he didn't know what it did. This, though… this amounted to using the Cruciatus and he did it anyway, without a second thought! And it's always Malfoy. He wouldn't do a thing like this to anyone else. One day he would go around the bend and kill him.

The breath caressing Harry's hair suddenly changed rhythm, the heart under his ear doing the same a second later. Mafoy's arm tightened the grip on his shoulders and then slipped off. It took all Harry's courage to lift his head. Malfoy's face seemed absolutely motionless apart from the slight widening of his eyes, paradoxically vulnerable-looking under the dramatically smudged black eye-liner.

Their situation was thoroughly out of the range of Harry's vocabulary, so he just pulled away in embarassment and sat on his heels. At once he started to feel cold and a bit nauseous. He'd hoped in the depth of his heart that it would have gone away overnight. It did not.

"Do you think the spell's still there?" Malfoy asked in a strangely flat tone. Harry was a bit surprised they were thinking the same thing at the same time but got over it quickly as he shifted a few inches back and felt a throb in his temple. He nodded in a dejected way and reached for his glasses which were lying on the bedside table. His wand was nowhere to be seen.

The room was small, most of it taken by two iron hospital beds. There were two green doors, a white metal cabinet standing next to one, the other probably leading to the bathroom. Otherwise the room was completely bare. It seemed to be seldom in use, had an austere, inhospitable look and smelled of disinfectant. Weak, pale light came through a single small window.

"Where are we?" said Harry after a pause.

"I don't know. They must have brought us here."

Malfoy sat up, pulled his knees to his chest and shook his hair over his eyes. There was a rip on the leg of his jeans showing a patch of milk-white skin. He didn't continue the conversation, if it could be called that, and an unusual tense silence followed. Just as it was starting to get unbearable, Madam Pomfrey came in with Headmistress McGonagall.

"I'm glad to see you behaving like grown-up people, gentlemen," the Headmistress said, taking review of the situation with a single penetrating look. "I sincerely hope you will continue to do so and refrain from quarreling with or baiting each other as it would only exacerbate your problem." Her strict expression softened. "Unfortunately, we still cannot tell what made the spell react in such an unusual way and how to end it."

Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey made a quick check-up on both of them. Something about Malfoy apparently caught her attention – she paused over him, frowned, made a note on her notepad, swished her wand once more and nodded to the Headmistress.

"The pain you feel at the loss of contact is purely mental which doesn't mean it's any less uncomfortable, of course, but I can assure you that physically you are absolutely all right."

"Are we somewhere in the hospital wing?" Harry asked quickly. It was a stupid question in a way, but simple enough. He didn't feel like thinking too much.

"This is a separate room which can also be used as quarantine," Madam Pomfrey explained. "You are under constant supervision if complications should arise and kept away from, er, unwelcome publicity here."

Harry started. He suddenly realized that the media were going to have a field day as soon as they found out. He ignored his girlfriend for so long she had to use a love spell on him… That alone would have made the front page at least for a fortnight, but the fact it went wrong, literally throwing him in the arms of the youngest Death Eater made it infinitely worse. He dragged his fingers through his hair with a groan.

"We've managed to keep the whole thing secret so far, Mr. Potter," the Headmistress said, guessing his thoughts. "The ones who witnessed your accident vowed not to tell anyone and the students will be informed that you went away on urgent Ministry business."

"And what are you going to tell them about him?" asked Harry gloomily.

"I won't be missed," the blond said listlessly. "Not even my house-mates want me to be around too much."

It didn't sound bitter or affronted. He simply stated a fact. Harry stared at him, baffled. Malfoy used to be everything but indifferent. He searched the cold mask of Malfoy's face, trying to find a crack, but in vain. He looked away quickly.

"Mr. Malfoy had to leave this morning due to an unspecified family matter," the Headmistress said calmly. "You will be staying here for the time being. It is not too comfortable, as I am well aware, but it is safe and quiet which is most important right now. You are allowed to go to all the adjoining corridors and rooms but it would be in your best interest not to enter the infirmary, much less any other public area of school. I'm also asking you not to use too many spells, preferably only minor ones or none at all. We will give you your wands back but do not take unneccessary risks. The bond could destabilize even more." She paused as she laid the wands on their respective bedside tables and then added: "The house-elves will bring you your personal things. And I agreed to let Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley visit you. Of course, if you wish someone else to get the same permission…"

Harry shook his head before he realized he probably should have asked for Ginny to come. In fact, he didn't want to see her. He would have to tell her all the things he had avoided so far and that was something he wasn't too keen to do. He was afraid of Ron's reaction and didn't want to cause more pain to the Weasley family who hadn't got over Fred's death yet. Still, it was the lies that got him into this mess…

He hadn't noticed the Healer and the Headmistress leaving and started as two house-elves Apparated to the room with two trunks. He got out of the bed unthinkingly, stepping towards his luggage, and hissed with pain as it hit him immediately. He stumbled back, his legs hitting the edge of the matress, and fell on the bed with a sad lack of grace. Malfoy gave a choked groan. "Sorry," Harry blurted, biting his lip, waiting for some vicious comment which, however, didn't come. He glanced at the other boy. Malfoy was hunched in a weird way, absent-mindedly playing with his hair. Despite having just got up after a good night's sleep he looked tired. Suddenly, he straightened his shoulders.

"How about going to the bathroom and cleaning ourselves up a bit before we knock each other out again?" he said in neutral, almost formal fashion.

Harry scrambled to Malfoy's bed and together they went to the door leading, as supposed, to the bathroom which fortunately turned out to be so tiny that one of them could quite easily stay outside.

"You go first," said Harry. He wanted to show Malfoy he was not the only one with good manners.

They went to the trunks. Malfoy took out a towel and a see-through plastic bag full of combs, bottles and something looking very much like Ginny's make-up equipment. Harry snorted and the blond's expressionless mask cracked.

"Potter, have you suffered further brain-damage in the war or is it just arrested development?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," gasped Harry between bouts of hysterical laughter. It made him feel much better. He would never have guessed he'd miss the git's insulting remarks. Maybe that's why he pulled him out of the Fiendfyre… He quickly clamped down the line of thought. He didn't want to think about _that_.

After the door closed behind Malfoy, Harry sat down and soon realized it wasn't funny anymore as the pain and nausea came back with a vengeance. He concentrated hard, taking deep breaths, and as endless minutes ticked by he became more and more amazed at the amount of discomfort Malfoy was willing to suffer just to paint his stupid face. There was no one to impress, for Merlin's sake! He'd clearly lost his mind.

"I'll bring a book next time," Harry muttered scornfully when the door finally opened but Malfoy had gone back to the empty countenance. His light-colored eyes seemed incredibly huge among the vast amount of eye-liner, making the rest of his features look unnaturally delicate like a porcelain doll's. His hair was wet and dishevelled apart from the smooth geometrical fringe whose tip touched his sharp chin.

Harry ran through the shower with the speed of lightning. His stomach felt like it was turning inside out and his temples pounded like hell. When he came out of the bathroom and saw that the house-elves had brought them breakfast in the meantime, it nearly made him sick. He managed half a toast and a cup of bitter tea, practically choking on the last sip. He glanced at Malfoy who was crouching on his bed as far from him as he possibly could, ignoring the food completely. He kept rubbing the inside of his left forearm with his thumb, shivering as if he were cold.

The house-elves came back for the trays and from that moment the morning stretched before them, seemingly endless. Outside, the sky was grey and overcast, which made the room drown in gloomy half-light. Harry tried to fall asleep, but failed. Apparently, distance was not the only factor in the intensity of the pain – it also got gradually worse the longer they didn't touch. Harry's vision was becoming blurred around the edges so he almost missed the movement on the other bed. Malfoy curled up in a ball like a cat and then went completely still.

It was stupid and Harry had promised himself most faithfully he would never let anger get the better of him again. In fact, he didn't even feel any right at the moment. The only thing making him go through this totally unneccessary torture was pointless pride along with embarrassment. He wasn't going to wait for one of them to crack up – that would be cowardly.

"Let's be reasonable, ferret," he murmured, reaching over, and laid a hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

II.

Harry thought Malfoy was pushing him off till he found himself caught in an iron grip of thin, but surprisingly strong arms. The embrace felt like an electric shock. They rolled around awkwardly before finding the most favourable position and then lay still in complete exhaustion. Their bodies were pressed flush against each other to get as much contact as possible. In fact, Malfoy partly trapped Harry under him and shamelessly buried his nose into Harry's hair. It was immensely mortifying and Harry would surely have strangled him or hexed him into something very ugly if he hadn't been thoroughly intoxicated with relief.

"Get off me," he growled after a while but it didn't sound particularly persuasive, mainly because he was still hugging his former arch-enemy very tight and not letting go.

"Not yet."

The pain and nausea weren't wholly gone anyway so Harry simply closed his eyes and rested, feeling pleasantly sleepy as blissful warmth flooded his every limb. He made every effort to keep in mind how much he hated Malfoy but it proved to be harder than he'd thought, especially as the innocent warmth transformed to unambiguous heat and he started to have trouble breathing.

Mafoy muttered something under his breath and rolled away. They sat up slowly. Harry felt his cheeks blazing red and stared at the matress determinedly.

"Damned spell," the blond grumbled. "We can't go on like this."

"So what do you suggest we do?"

"Act in a rational manner. If we can't fight it, we have to accept it. I think we should call truce and come up with some rules."

Harry wanted to protest automatically but then he realized Malfoy was unfortunately right. In fact, the same idea crossed his mind not a minute ago. A few more hugging incidents like this and they will either murder each other or… or everything will get totally out of hand. "Fine," he said with a nod. "We could just ask for permission before touching the other, couldn't we?"

"Well, let's give it a go. May I?" Malfoy reached out a hand and waited.

Harry bit his lip. "You may." Long slender fingers encircled his wrist lightly. He felt his face reddening again and wished fervently he could yank his arm away but managed not to act on his wish. "And you won't stay so long in the bathroom next time," he added firmly. "You can as well paint your face here in bed."

"The light here is atrocious," Malfoy protested.

"Then don't paint it at all. No one can see you here anyway."

The grey eyes glinted maliciously in a way Harry was well acquainted with. "Maybe it's you I want to impress."

Harry snorted and then laughed quietly.

Malfoy went back to his nest at the headboard, burrowing himself into the pillows but didn't let go of Harry's hand, holding it much too tightly. Harry glanced at him. The fact they were touching didn't seem to help much. He didn't look good. Actually, he looked terrible. Harry couldn't recall him ever being so gaunt and ashen before and the realization made him shiver. There was something seriously wrong with Draco Malfoy.

III.

Holding on to Potter's hand did a world of good to Draco but he didn't feel very well anyway. As long as he kept to his dorm-room which he had solely for himself this year, or to obscure corners of the library, the physical weakness and constant weariness meant nothing more than a trivial nuisance, thankfully leaving him with too little energy to think about the things he didn't want to think about. Now, though, he was in desperate need of strength. He scarcely managed to maintain his impenetrable mask in front of Potter – and soon even that could become impossible. Yet no matter how much he tried, he couldn't as much as touch his breakfast, feeling sick simply from looking at it.

It went the same way with lunch. He thought he saw Potter giving him a few suspicious glances but couldn't really check as he strived not to throw up from the vile stench of mashed potatoes smothered in gravy. He closed his eyes, counting back the days he'd gone without food already. It was more than he'd thought. Suddenly he felt a strange jolt of excitement and almost smiled. There was no reason to hold on to something he didn't want anymore, was there?

There was a knock on the door and Granger peeked in. Before she could say anything, a large, ginger, furry creature shot inside, sweeping everything from Potter's bedside table.

"Crookshanks!" yelped the girl, dropping the stash of books and parchment she was carrying. "Damned cat, he's gone completely bonkers. He won't forgive me for sending him to Australia along with my parents."

"He's been bonkers since the first day I saw him," said Potter. "I'd help you catch him, Hermione, but I can't really move very far from here."

Crookshanks took hold of Draco's wet towel and proceeded to wrestle with it in a very peculiar style. Granger picked up her things, putting them on the bed. "I'm sorry, Malfoy," she said. "He doesn't mind me in the least."

"No harm done," Draco said noncommitally.

Granger turned to her friend. "How are you feeling, Harry? McGonagall said there's nothing wrong with you physically."

"It's all right, I guess," Potter muttered.

"Any… Any changes?"

Potter shook his head, blushing.

Draco felt something cold touch his hand and started before realizing it was the cat who had jumped on his bed, nudging him with his nose. Draco had always liked cats though his parents had never let him have one. This one was truly gorgeous and he always felt envious of Granger for owning anything he would want himself but couldn't have. He scratched the cat's ears. Crookshanks took it as an invitation, climbing on Draco's lap, making himself comfortable and purring so loudly that it made both Gryffindors turn around.

"Look at that!" gasped Granger. "He usually bites, you know."

"Me too," said Draco. The softness of the silky fur under his fingers had a calming effect on him, making the stabbing pain in his back more bearable. "Can I borrow him for a minute?"

"I may even let you keep him for good," she replied ominously. The cat swished his tail, not moving an inch from his new post.

"Where's Ron?" Potter asked.

"Finishing his homework for afternoon lessons." She snorted. "You know what he's like. And he's got Quidditch practice in the evening. He'll come to see you tomorrow."

"Damn, I have to send Ginny instructions –"

Draco drifted off. He'd resigned from both the Seeker and Captain positions right on the first day of school. Since the moment he escaped from the hellfire pit of The Room of Hidden Things, an uncontrollable panic seized him every time he as much as tried to go up in the air so he wouldn't be any good. Little Emily Waters was only in second year, but had a terrific hand-eye coordination and she should be fast enough when flying on his broomstick which Ministry somehow failed to confiscate along with the rest of his more valuable, which in fact meant nearly all, personal belongings. He should draft a gift deed or a testament perhaps, as the older team-mates were surely going to try to take it away from her as soon as he… well, afterwards. The Slytherins have always played more each for their own than one for all and –

"Malfoy!"

He looked up with a start. Granger moved to his bed and shoved a book in front of his face.

"I brought you today's Arithmancy homework and I'll take notes from Ancient Runes for you tomorrow."

Draco thanked her politely as he put the book away on his bedside table. The muscles around his spine cramped painfully. He glanced at Potter who scribbled frantically on a piece of parchment, his hand shaking visibly. In a minute, he put the quill away.

"Would you give this to Ginny, please? And tell her I'm not angry at her."

That boy was absolutely impossible. If he had his way, he probably wouldn't have fought the Dark Lord at all, forgiving him everything he'd done heartily and inviting him to a family dinner at the Weasley's. How strange. Even under the worst circumstances, Potter fought his opponents with a Disarming spell – all of them except Draco whom he nearly killed with a curse bordering on Dark Arts in sixth year and deliberately hurt with their bond only yesterday. Clearly, Draco had the ability to reach the darkest corners of his heart.

"Fine," said Granger as she rolled up the parchment neatly. Her tone of voice made it quite clear she didn't agree with Potter's forgiving attitude as well. "I must go, I have a lesson in ten minutes. I'll keep bringing you notes and homework till –" She bit her lip. "Till we find a solution."

Draco lifted Crookshanks from his lap and held him out to her. She gave him a tentative smile.

"Try to get along, would you?" she said quickly before she left.

"Don't you worry about that," Potter muttered under his breath as soon as she was gone, furrowing his brows as though he had a headache, and reached out his hand cautiously. "May I?"

"Mmm." Led by an inexplicable impulse Draco offered him a hand instead of an arm. Potter hesitated slightly and took it.

The relief was instantaneous but a strange anxiety seized Draco along with it. Potter squirmed and blushed again. If Draco wasn't afraid he would not be able to put the mask back on afterwards, he would have smirked at him, teased him with some snarky remark…

Potter snatched his hand away all of a sudden, moving aside, and started to sort through the scrolls of parchment. With a sense of frustration Draco reached for the textbook on his bedside table, opened it and reached for a quill. Unfortunately, due to their close proximity, he kept jostling Potter with his elbow every time he moved his right hand while Potter had the same problem with his left. Eventually, with a grunt, Potter scrambled to the opposite side of Draco's bed, nudging his calf with his foot in silent query. Draco nodded. It was a brilliant idea, actually, he had to give him that. And a good way how to keep their feet warm, too.

In an hour he finished his Arithmancy homework and started reading the designated chapter in his Charms textbook when a sudden dizzy spell hit him, an occurence which he'd been increasingly prone to lately. Lines seemed to melt one into another, his eyelids got too heavy. He pushed the book away, slid down a bit and closed his eyes just for a little while…

IV.

"Malfoy. Wake up, please."

Please? There was something wrong with the word but he couldn't remember what. The voice. Who did it belong to? It had a nice sound, making it the only nice thing in the thick, opressive haze which trapped him, filling his mouth like a gag… Dark hair. And green eyes, another nice thing. Not a trace of brown or grey in them, just bright rich green reminding him of the large brooch in his mother's jewel-case. It had been a wedding present from her Slytherin classmates…

"Come on, ferret."

Oh.

"What do you want, Potter?" Draco heard his voice as if it were only a far-away echo. He tried to focus but his eyes refused to comply. There were times when he could go from sleep to complete awareness in a heartbeat. He couldn't recall how it was done.

"I'm really sorry to wake you up, but I need to go to the bathroom."

Draco groaned. "Can't you hold on a bit?"

"You've been asleep for four and a half hours."

"What?" Draco shook his head, blinking. The world started to spin out of control. "Fuck." Half-unconscious, he dragged himself out of bed, managed the few steps toward the bathroom door and leaned against the wall next to it. He felt what snakes must feel like when shedding skin.

"Here, drink this." Someone shoved a glass of water into his hand. He lifted it to his lips automatically. The first sip made him feel sick but it passed quickly and the world started to appear more normal. He lifted his eyes. Potter was standing before him, hands in pockets, frowning. "You look like shit, Malfoy," he said.

"They haven't taught you the concept of tact in Gryffindor or did you just miss that particular lesson?"

"This _was_ tactful. Actually, you look even worse."

Draco dearly wished to take him down a peg but his brain refused to come up with anything useful. He staggered back to bed and curled up in a nest made of a pillow and blanket. Potter sat on the edge of the matress and laid his hand on Draco's knee without asking. There was a determined expression in his face as though he'd just decided to act upon another of his heroic impulses.

"Do you need… more?" he asked finally.

More of what? Suddenly, Draco understood, nearly nodding in assent to his great horror. Luckily, he pulled himself together in time. "No! No, it's not the spell. I've been like this most of the time lately."

Damn. He hadn't meant to say the last sentence aloud at all.

Potter furrowed his brows and opened his mouth only to shut it again, moving back to his place in the foot of the bed. Draco grabbed his textbook but left it lying closed on his lap and absent-mindedly stroked the cover.

"So, you like cats?" Potter asked unexpectedly.

Draco glanced up, flicking his fringe out of his eyes, and gave the other boy a scrutinizing look. He seemed genuinely interested. "I do," Draco replied.

"That's weird. You never had any."

"Malfoys are not in the habit of keeping pets."

"They much rather serve as pets for others, don't they?"

Draco gave a start. Somehow his mask didn't work so well all of a sudden and he couldn't think of a single sarcastic remark. There was a low buzz obliterating everything that went on in his head.

"I'm sorry," murmured Potter in a guilty tone which baffled Draco even more. "Force of habit, you know."

There was a minute of tense silence.

"When this is over, I'll get a kitten. All white," Draco offered hesitantly. It wasn't really true but he reckoned that he could as well make small-talk if Potter was so keen on it. And in fact, he _would _have got himself a kitten if –

"I used to have an owl like that."

"Yes, I remember. A snowy owl. It always made it easy to know if you got any post." Draco knew he was babbling, an ingrained routine from boring society events and visits at elderly family relations. "You don't have it anymore?"

"She got killed during the war."

"That's a pity."

Potter blinked, his eyes shining with something which looked suspiciously like tears. Draco changed the subject abruptly. "You're just missing Quidditch practice, aren't you?"

"The first in the season after the trials. I was planning to play a mock match, haven't seen the new Beaters in serious action yet. But Ginny will do as well as I. She would make a perfectly good Captain if everyone didn't expect it to be me. Who'll they get as a substitute for you?"

"I am not playing this year."

The green eyes widened in disbelief. "What? Are they mental?"

Interesting. Potter apparently assumed they pulled Draco off the team and didn't think it to be a good idea. Draco felt a small bubble of pleasure rise up in his chest. "It was my decision."

"You're kidding me." Potter's face clearly spoke of shock. "Who am I going to play against? Everyone else sucks."

An unexpected flush of warmth went over Draco and he nearly smiled. At that moment someone knocked on the door. Who else but Granger. Minus the cat, unfortunately.

"You're fighting again?" she said reproachfully instead of greeting.

"We're not," grumbled Potter. "We're talking Quidditch."

She gave them a sharp look as if searching for clear evidence and suddenly her eyebrows shot up. He followed her gaze and realized he'd unwittingly put his legs over Potter's, laying his bare feet nearly on the other boy's lap. To his own surprise, a little bit of his former arrogance appeared out of nowhere, making him wiggle his toes ostentatiously. Granger went scarlet.

"We made truce," announced her friend. He didn't notice Draco's feet at all, apparently.

"That's wonderful!" The know-it-all made a speedy recovery, the shocked expression replaced with an almost proud smile. "I brought the rest of your homework, Harry. Do you need help with anything?"

There was plenty of space on what was now a spare bed. Granger made herself comfortable as she began to browse through the small pile of essays. Draco watched the two Gryffindors pensively. They leaned over the parchment, their closeness quite natural, understanding each other almost without words.

Suddenly he realized how utterly alone he was. Even if the whole school knew he was in the hospital wing, no one would come to visit him. He never had real friends but before, Crabbe and Goyle would have come out of duty, Pansy out of the desire to impress him, Nott because of their families' political alliance and Blaise… out of curiosity? With him, no one ever really knew. Maybe his parents would have arrived or Professor Snape would have spent a half-hour with him.

The pain he held trapped deep inside with sheer strength of will burst out to the surface, concentrating into the faded Dark Mark. Draco bit his lip, tasting blood, and pressed a palm over his left forearm. He shouldn't have come back. He loved Hogwarts and wished to find peace here but there was too little left of what he used to be. It was pointless to open old wounds, searching for something forever lost.

He closed his eyes and let darkness swallow him. It was cold in there, like in the Azkaban cell where he waited for his trial or in the maze of dungeons under Malfoy Manor where only hushed voices of Death Eaters disturbed the creepy silence. Or in the Slytherin dorm where he stared into nothingness every night last year as fear and sense of loss ate him away like acid till nearly nothing was left of him –

Gradually, he fell asleep with the hope of never waking again.

* * *

Hermione was reading Harry's homework but from the corner of her eye she also watched her friend studying Malfoy's sleeping form gloomily. The blond seemed almost unrecognizable in washed-out track pants and sweatshirt and as he lay curled on his side, the bumps of his spine were visible despite the layer of thick cotton. Harry pulled his legs from under Malfoy's with much more gentleness than could be expected and sat in a more comfortable position. He then went to put his legs back and hissed.

"Damn, those bloody feet of his are cold as ice. Give me the blanket, please," he muttered. With a heavy sigh he proceeded to pull it over the other boy, tucking the blanket under his bare feet. "I've been trying so hard to ignore him," he added grumpily. "I wanted to have him off my back for good and I thought we were finally getting there… Is there really no way how to make this go away? Can't you just try a few more countercurses?"

Hermione made an indistinct sound which could have been interpreted as a negative while her thoughts flowed in a distinctly different direction. She looked at Malfoy again to make sure he was really asleep and stepped on thin ice.

"According to the book, the spell should only work on people who are already in love with each other." Harry's eyes widened and he went noticeably pale, so she continued in a rush: "That is clearly not the case here, but that means there must be something else bonding you together. Something equally strong."

"Such as hatred, perhaps?"

She gave him a penetrating look. "Do you really hate him so much?"

Harry's face had always been an open book to anyone who could read it. He took a sharp breath and unconsciously, his eyes flicked to the sleeping boy with a guilty expression. "No," he confessed eventually. "He makes me angry like no one else does but that's not the same thing as hatred, is it?"

"No, it isn't," she said. "I have no idea what it could be, then."

They fell silent and went back to their homework. After a few minutes Harry snorted and moved a bit so that he was touching Malfoy's covered legs. Some minutes later, after some fidgeting, he carefully lifted the blanket and stuck his feet under.

"At least they're warmer now," he whispered a little sourly.

"How long can you go without?" She lowered her voice too.

"About twenty minutes. Three hours when we went to the breaking point once but I guess it would be less now he's in this state."

"He doesn't look very well."

"Tell me something I don't know. Git. I save his life and he makes a wreck of himself."

She laughed at his injured tone. Harry turned to her and flashed her a wide grin. These moments had been so rare since the war that it made her heart squeeze. Sometimes she blamed herself and Ron for not having so much time for him anymore but at first she supposed he would want to spend his time with Ginny…

Sighing she gazed at the parchment. Something nagged at her. She had a feeling she missed something essential. It took three more paragraphs for her to realize what it was.

"You saved his life!" She straightened so fast that books and quills flew all over the bed. "He ows you – Malfoy!" In her excitement she darted forward, nearly tumbling over the Slytherin Prince. She had to shake his shoulder vehemently before he rose from the depth of sleep, still not looking too wakeful though and staring at her with glazed eyes. "Wake up, Malfoy, Harry saved your life!"

"Again?" murmured the blond indistinctly.

"Not now, during the Final Battle. Do you recognize the debt?"

"Hermione, what –"

She raised her hand and Harry fell silent at once. „Do you recognize the debt?" she repeated.

"Of course I do." Malfoy rubbed his eyes, turning the neat black lines into smudged mess. "Why do you – no. Oh no." He sat up, looking first at the blanket which covered him and after that at Harry who seemed totally confused.

"You see the point, don't you? You are bonded by a life-debt. The love spell must have interfered with it."

"He doesn't owe me anything," said Harry quickly. "I did it because… well, I just did," he finished lamely.

"I'm sorry to say it, but in fact, I _do_ owe you, Potter. We are wizards, these things have their own rules," said Malfoy.

"Exactly." Hermione jumped off the bed. Finally she could do something, had a tangible lead to something about which, no doubt, countless books had been written. She looked back as she went out. Apparently, Harry still didn't get it but Draco looked as if he'd just been struck by lightning.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thanks again to everyone who reviewed, put this story on alert or simply reads it!

* * *

**Chapter 3**

I.

Harry had already seen this expression on Malfoy's face several times before. Back in first year, in the Forbidden Forest. Right before Hermione's fist connected with his face in third year. Then later up on the Astronomy Tower when he had his wand trained at Dumbledore but couldn't find it in himself to kill him. And many times afterwards, either in visions or with his own eyes when they met in Malfoy Manor and in the Room of Hidden Things. It was fear.

"You know what she was talking about?" he asked.

The blond looked up. His pupils were so dilated that they took up almost the whole diameter of his irises. His complexion went completely ashen, the smudged eye-liner looking more like bruises. "I do," he whispered.

Harry felt a chill go over his spine. It was going to be bad.

"You saved my life," Malfoy continued in a low voice, gazing vaguely over Harry's shoulder. "It constituted a bond between us, a magical bond of a kind. If it got mixed up with the love spell, it's quite possible that we won't be able to break it till I pay my debt."

"Till –" Oh Merlin. "Till you save my life in return?"

Malfoy nodded.

A long silence followed. Meanwhile, the room went almost completely dark and Harry couldn't make out the outlines of the furniture anymore. Then a house-elf Apparated to the room, lit the lamps, picked up the trays with leftovers from the dinner he had brought earlier while Malfoy'd been still asleep, and Disapparated again.

"You didn't eat anything."

"I'm not hungry. I'll go clean myself up and call it a night if you don't mind," Malfoy said.

Harry actually _did_ mind but made no comment. Malfoy's unnaturally polite, impassive behaviour scared him.

They took turns in the bathroom. Malfoy made it much faster than in the morning, emerging out dressed not in pyjamas, as could have been expected, but in grey sweatpants and a sweatshirt of a similar colour, both too big for him, drowning his figure completely. When they returned to the bed, he pulled on another unsightly sweatshirt over the one he already wore. It was not particularly warm in the room, but it still seemed a bit excessive. Harry moved his pillow and blanket to his new station in the foot of Malfoy's bed. He couldn't believe how fast they adjusted, given the absurdity of their situation.

On the other hand, what else could they do?

He hadn't even lain down when Malfoy extinguished the lights with a flick of his wand. Piqued, Harry tucked his feet under their shared blanket and kicked Malfoy in the shin conveniently. He got no reaction from the other boy, though. Apparently he had already fallen asleep. That didn't seem normal at all.

Harry didn't feel like going to sleep yet. There was not much to make one tired while sitting in bed all day, and furthermore, his head buzzed with a blur of thoughts he couldn't wipe out no matter how hard he tried. He didn't know whether to contemplate on the spell, Malfoy, Ginny or something completely different. The situation had its perks though – for the first time in months, the faces of the dead failed to appear and defile in front of his eyes in the dark. It was nicely warm under the blanket and as their legs touched almost from hip to foot, he didn't feel any pain or nausea. There were no Ron and Seamus to disturb the peace with their snoring… Harry concentrated and after a while caught the faint sound of Malfoy's breathing, regular, but spaced with too long intervals.

He rolled over and his thoughts went back to that day near the end of the holidays when he'd seen Malfoy at court. The Slytherin had been very thin and weirdly silent even then, not saying a word when the Wizengamot sent both his parents to Azkaban for many years while clearing him of all charges on grounds of being under-age and under undue influence at the time he took the Dark Mark. Malfoy did not twitch a muscle during the proceedings. That was the moment Harry decided to leave him alone for good. He should have known it would not work. Still, it seemed ironic that the only act of kindness he had ever extended towards his enemy backfired on them.

Yet whenever he tried to imagine what it would be like if he hadn't saved Malfoy from the Fiendfyre, an unspeakable horror seized him. Once, in a moment of weakness, he wondered why he hadn't got hold of Crabbe instead and realized he would act exactly the same if given another chance. He'd stopped at that point then, refusing to follow the line of thought any further. Maybe it was time to do it now. Or not.

At some point, he fell asleep. A nightmare woke him up in the small hours but it only roused him for a little while and when he opened his eyes for the second time, it was already light.

It felt strange seeing the silvery hair fanned out on the pillow on the other side of the bed first thing in the morning, as soon as he put on his glasses. When he moved a bit he had a clear view of Malfoy's face which seemed weirdly innocent and vulnerable with lips slightly open.

Just as the day before, he caught himself watching the other boy for too long.

He turned away with a sigh. If Hermione was right, they were both in a world of shit. Even if Malfoy wanted to save him, from sheer self-preservation or some other reason of his own, he would hardly get a chance to do it here in the quarantine. He might poison Harry's pumpkin juice and shove a bezoar down his throat in the nick of time, but that probably wouldn't count. Anyway, it was clear as day that Malfoy was not in a state to save anyone. More like he needed someone to save _him_ again.

A wave of anger swept through Harry without warning. What did the idiot think he was doing? Undertaking a hunger strike for the purity of wizarding blood, or trying to kill himself in the slowest possible fashion?

Sadly, the second option seemed correct.

When Madam Pomfrey came to make a routine check-up, she had to wake Malfoy up. Of Harry, she did a quick job, but she made the Slytherin Prince sit up and prodded him with her wand very thoroughly, scribbling on her notepad so furiously that her quill nearly ripped the parchment. Then she cast Muffliato which became a rage with all wizards since the war. Harry watched her lips move and he could tell from Malfoy's expression that her lecture was not a very pleasant one. After a few minutes, he felt the beginning of a tension at the back of his neck and making a quick decision, he moved to the other side of the bed and laid his hand on Malfoy's shoulder.

The Healer pursed up her mouth in a disapproving way as she cancelled the spell. "Don't forget what I told you, Mr. Malfoy. If your condition doesn't show signs of improvement soon, I will have to resort to potions. Don't risk unneccessary complications. Have a nice day, Mr. Potter."

As soon as she left, Malfoy rose and headed for the bathroom.

"What's it all about?" said Harry, stopping him.

"Wait after I'm finished, Potter."

This time Malfoy was so quick that Harry didn't even start a headache.

"So, what's going on?" asked Harry again as they went back to the bed and lined up their legs without thinking. A flash of his former arrogance appeared in Malfoy's eyes but it was gone too soon. Harry felt slightly disappointed. Sometimes he actually liked to quarrel with that bloody git.

"It has nothing to do with the bond."

"Bollocks. We're like Siamese twins now, so if it concerns you, it concerns me too."

"It's personal."

Harry snorted. "Oh, come on. I can see your ribs through two sweatshirts. You sleep all day, all night too and still look dead tired. You haven't eaten a thing since we've been here. You're not even rude to me anymore. So I'm asking you for the last time – what's wrong with you?"

Malfoy didn't lift an eyebrow. "That's none of your business."

Harry felt an overwhelming desire to wring his neck. Or to get up and take a couple of steps back… He closed his eyes and counted to ten. He wouldn't let Malfoy rile him up.

Both were ostentatiously silent all morning, each doing his homework. Harry watched Malfoy at breakfast furtively, and then at lunch too. At both times, the blond only drank a glass of pumpkin juice.

The afternoon dragged hopelessly. Harry had never been a fan of long stretches of studying and from some point only stared at the Charms textbook blankly. He couldn't wait to see Ron and Hermione, because he knew he would be able to talk to them without searching their faces constantly for the slightest hint of what they were thinking. When there finally came a knock on the door and his friends came in, he caught himself grinning like an idiot. Malfoy didn't even raise his eyes from his parchment till a ginger shadow slid past the visitors. Crookshanks went straight to his new favourite and Malfoy obediently tickled him under the chin.

"I'm sorry I didn't come yesterday, mate, but we had prac–" Ron's voice broke suddenly and his eyes nearly fell out of their sockets, directed straight on Malfoy's bare feet, conveniently placed in the vicinity of Harry's lap. "Put those dirty feet of yours away, you bloody bastard!" he roared. "And what do you think you're doing with Hermione's cat?" He stepped forward forcefully, apparently more than ready to beat his enemy to a pulp.

"Ronald Weasley, stop and hold your tongue! Now!" Hermione's voice boomed like thunder, eerily reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley's.

Harry watched his best friend freeze on the spot with great interest. Did all boys search for a girl that would somehow remind them of their mother? He remembered feeling like that once, too, sitting with Ginny by the lake, caressing her long red hair and imagining a different red-head he only knew from pictures, dreams and the Mirror of Erised. He felt so calm and happy then, forgot all about Voldemort, the prophecy, the imminent closeness of death… But Ginny wanted more and it didn't seem right. He didn't want to… to… In fact, he didn't have any idea what it was he didn't want.

"Chill out, mate," he said. "Be glad it's just feet and nothing more."

Ron went a little green in the face. "I'll skin Ginny alive."

Harry just shook his head. It was his own fault anyway, if he weren't such a coward… He sighed, putting these thoughts aside for the time being. "How did it go yesterday?"

The Gryffindors sat down on the spare bed littered with textbooks and Ron started to describe yesterday's practice in great detail. Harry caught himself giving Malfoy covert glances. The Slytherin put aside the Potions textbook he kept spending most of his wakeful moments with and petted Crookshanks pensively. When Ron recounted a silly mistake made by one of the new Beaters, Malfoy's lips twitched in a small smile. Obviously, he was listening.

Crookshanks soon got bored and his orange eyes fastened upon the blond fringe billowing with Malfoy's every breath just before the cat's nose in a very seductive fashion. He waited for the right moment and pounced, batting it with a clawed paw. Malfoy gave a startled yelp and then laughed out loud.

Harry had never seen him really laugh before. He knew his smirks, his scoffs and disdainful curls of lips. Not this. Malfoy's whole face lightened up and it became very evident there was a certain delicacy in his features he couldn't have inherited from either of his parents. It was uniquely his own. If it weren't for his appaling nature and bad reputation there would surely be droves of smitten girls trailing his every step. Harry thought it was a great pity, because then there would be much less of them trailing after him.

"What are you laughing at, you fucking prick?"

Ron's hateful exclamation made it all go away in the space of a heartbeat. Malfoy's face froze back into the expressionless mask. "It's not forbidden, Weasley, surely?" he said in a non-committal tone.

"You have no bloody right to laugh! You should be rotting in Azkaban along with your Mum and Dad!"

Harry winced. "Ron! Don't," he said sharply.

"I'm only telling the truth. You shouldn't have testified on his behalf nor his Mum's, Harry. And you should have had let him burn in the first place. Good riddance, I say."

Harry felt all color leaving his face and his throat clenched painfully. "Never say anything like this again," he croaked. "I won't let anyone die, ever! Not when I can save them!"

A heavy silence settled on the room.

"Harry is right, Ron," said Hermione finally. "There has already been enough of people dying, don't you think so?"

"Of course I do, Hermione," mumbled Ron. "I'm sorry, Harry."

"It's all right. Just don't say things like that ever again, would you? Not even about him." He jerked his head in Malfoy's direction. The blond's fingers were clenched in Crookshanks' long fur, his face empty as if he'd turned into an Inferius. "He went through enough shit too."

Ron took a sharp breath but managed to hold his tongue. Hermione quickly produced a roll of parchment on which she wrote out a list of their homework and chapters to read, and also gave Malfoy a copy of her notes from Ancient Runes. As soon as everything was in order, she rose. "We must be going. Would you like to keep Crookshanks here for the rest of the day, Draco?"

Harry felt the other boy's startled reaction when she called him by his first name but there was no trace of it in his face. "That's very nice of you, Granger," he said tonelessly. "Thanks."

The girl smiled, grabbed a shaken Ron by the elbow and dragged him out of the room before he could have thrown another tantrum.

For a while, Malfoy sat completely motionless. Then he took a gasping breath, snatched Crookshanks up and hugged him tight. The cat flattened his ears and growled but didn't try to bolt. The blond clenched his hands, looked down and let his hair fall over his eyes like a curtain.

Harry watched his former enemy cuddling the large cat as if it were a teddy bear and felt an unexpected urge to reach his hand out to him. It was the same impulse that came over him several months ago in the Room of Hidden Things – as if Malfoy were calling him and he had to obey.

The idea that the former Death Eater had him under some dark spell crossed his mind, but then he looked at the thin legs lined up along his own, at the hunched shoulders, and rejected the theory once and for all. Magic had nothing to do with this.

Ever since they first met, Malfoy had the ability to work Harry up to the point of insanity with nothing more than a look or a slight change in the tone of his voice. No matter how much Harry tried, he never learned to ignore him. But then came the moment they were both teetering on the brink of life and death and it suddenly became very clear that their mutual obsession meant far more than he ever imagined.

Harry had no idea whether there was a name for what he felt or what the feeling amounted to. He only knew that Draco Malfoy got much deeper under his skin than he'd thought.

II.

The stubborn silence between them continued all through the next day and carried over to Sunday. They were constantly touching when in bed, and therefore didn't have to say even a single "may I." The time seemed to pass more and more slowly.

Harry was swamped with a growing feeling of disquietude. Their involuntary imprisonment brought back memories of the cupboard at the Dursleys and after dark, he grasped even at the faint sound of Malfoy's breathing to chase the old fear away. It wasn't much better in the daytime though. Their inertia grated on his nerves, leaving him prey to thoughts and emotions he'd been trying hard to bury for the last months.

Ron and Hermione did their best to distract him, spent every evening with him without saying a single word to or about Malfoy but there always came the moment they had to leave. Harry pretended to be sleepy, so that they wouldn't be worried but in fact sleep eluded him. Having no physical outlet for energy, the tension in him was slowly becoming unbearable, not allowing him as much as to close his eyes, let alone fall asleep.

Anyway, Malfoy slept for two.

When looking at his curled up form drowned in layers and layers of Muggle clothes Harry sometimes still felt a flare of anger but more often now, it was a feeling of terrible anxiety. This wasn't the Malfoy he used to know. Neither the malicious, spoilt, arrogant bastard who made his life hell for the first five years in Hogwarts, nor the scared-up rat driven into a corner which he became just before the war. He was a wraith that had stayed alive by mistake.

By Sunday evening it was quite clear that Malfoy would not even try and pretend to eat anymore. He ignored his dinner completely and afterwards walked to the bathroom with mechanical, strangely fluid steps of a sleepwalker. When the door closed behind him, Harry immediately started to feel sick. Crashing waves of headache and nausea nearly knocked him off. He was about to burst in when Malfoy stepped out again, not spending more than thirty seconds inside. He removed the black stuff from around his eyes, revealing deep purple shadows, but his fringe was as neat as ever. He leaned against the doorframe and gave Harry a vacant look.

"Don't be long," he said flatly.

Harry drew a deep breath but then only nodded and went into the bathroom. As soon as he was alone, he grabbed the edge of the washstand, leaned forward and closed his eyes. There was a strange buzzing in his ears.

Those three words had shaken him to the core. Malfoy had always been a coward yet he would never willingly show any sign of uncertainty or weakness in front of Harry Potter. If he demeaned himself to a request bordering on pleading, he must have been on the brink of collapse. Or something in him broke. Actually, Harry didn't really care which of the alternatives was the right one. The mysterious protective instinct that so far only smouldered deep inside of him flared like mad. He sighed as he lifted his head and looked his reflection in the mirror in the eye.

When he came out a couple of minutes later, Malfoy was still standing at the same spot, looking like a wax figurine. On closer inspection though, he was shivering all over.

"Are you cold?" asked Harry in a low voice.

Malfoy just shook his head, shuffled to the bed and burrowed himself under the blanket till his hair were the only part of him still visible. There was not much space left for Harry, so he draped the spare blanket over his shoulders and turned off the lights. For a long time he simply lay with his eyes closed. Usually he would have stared into darkness because he was afraid to see the stiff faces parading behind his eye-lids but he had other things on his mind tonight.

Malfoy had started changing long before this. No one knew better than Harry what he had to deal with during sixth year and the war turned him into a mindless wild beast, desperately fighting for life. He was _himself_, though. A few weeks after the Final Battle, in the courtroom, Harry saw this immovable spectre for the first time, only he was too empty and numb to pay it any attention then. Actually, he hardly took notice of anything or anybody just a couple of days ago, no matter how hard Hermione, Ron and Ginny tried.

Malfoy did the trick with a single shove.

When Harry recalled the moment, a familiar surge of anger overwhelmed him. It was a wonderful feeling. It had nothing in common with the hatred he used to feel towards Voldemort or Bellatrix, and it was also very unlike the black malice Snape used to stir up in him. This felt as if every drop of blood in his veins transformed into molten lava.

He adored it.

And if the silly idiot had his way and died, he would lose it forever.

He sat up quickly and blinked. The silence in the room was deafening, he couldn't hear a single sound over it. He panicked. Shaking the blanket off, he scrambled to Malfoy. He saw the pale blur of his hair quite clearly but couldn't discern the slow rhythm of inhales and exhales until he leaned very close, held his breath and closed his eyes. For a second, he felt dizzy with relief.

He stayed by Malfoy's side, without any clear reason for being there. He hadn't noticed they were not touching till a throb of pain in his temple reminded him. Malfoy rolled over with a slight whimper.

Harry acted on impulse, stroking the other boy's shoulder and pressing his cheek to the blond hair for a moment. It smelled of cherries. Then he went back to his side of the bed, snuggled under the covers, put his legs over Malfoy's and fell asleep.

III.

Draco was cold, but it was not the type of cold which would make him want to rub his arms and shiver. It settled in the very marrow of his bones, heavy as the lid of a lead coffin. He wished to fall asleep again so that he could dream of warmth and someone's breath caressing his hair, but he was trapped between sleeping and waking, unable to go back or forward.

He heard voices from afar, not words, just a melodious buzz. They were becoming louder and just as he thought he would soon understand what they were saying, something acrid filled his mouth and a burning flame licked his body from head to foot. After a while the terrible pain changed into a series of exruciating convulsions.

"Don't worry, Mr. Potter, it will pass. Hold his head."

A disgustingly thick liquid slipped down Draco's throat. He wanted to spit it out but someone held his head, tipping it back, so he swallowed and doubled up in pain again.

"One more to go."

His senses went on overload as a heavy odour of mint hit his nose. Energizing Potion. He made himself drink it and tried to ride out the wave of heat it caused, apparently without success, because he blacked out for a moment. Suddenly the mix of potions took effect, unmercifully rousing him from unconsciousness though his brain protested wildly. He had never been so miserable before.

"Keep him awake at all costs, Mr. Potter. I'm going to ask Professor Slughorn to brew another batch."

Draco opened his eyes. Madam Pomfrey stood by the bed, clearing empty potion bottles from his bedside table and putting them on a tray which she then grabbed, stomping from the room.

"I tried to talk her out of it, but you didn't want to wake up and she insisted."

It was Potter's voice. Draco turned his head, the move sending a sharp stab of pain through his body and making him dizzy.

The dark-haired boy sat right next to him. His overgrown fringe hung slightly over the rim of his glasses, there was a shadow of stubble on his thin cheeks and the neckline of his too big T-shirt slipped off his shoulder so that the hollow above his collar-bone was visible. He didn't look like the vanquisher of the Dark Lord and master of the Elder Wand. He looked worried and there were stressed lines in the corners of his mouth. He held Draco's right forearm tightly with both hands.

Draco didn't even try to speak. He knew the moment he would open his mouth, he'd puke his guts up. Every inch of his skin itched as if he got bitten by a horde of ants and his spine tingled with spastic bursts of energy.

"Madam Pomfrey said you should get up and walk or the potions won't work properly," said Potter. "We'll make a trip to the bathroom, okay?"

Draco tried to sit up but started to tremble violently. Potter caught him with surprising strength and didn't let him fall back. It put them in a tricky position – Potter basically hugged his shoulders, and if he leaned a tiny bit closer, their foreheads would touch. Draco couldn't help himself as a hysterical giggle escaped him.

"I wish you knew how much I want to punch your lights out right now," muttered Potter and tilted his head to the side, but didn't let go. "Come on, get up. You probably have no need to go to the bathroom, but I certainly do."

Draco suddenly recalled the effects of Energizing Potion with great clarity and attempted to unite the random trickles of magical energy into a single continuous flow by sheer force of will. As soon as he managed to do that, he staggered out of the bed. He pretended he didn't feel Potter's hands under his arms, let alone need them, but without their support he would have fallen to the ground at once. Thus his knees gave away only when Potter propped him against the doorframe and disappeared into the bathroom. Draco curled into a ball, yielding to the terrible nausea for several endless seconds.

"Malfoy. Malfoy! Fuck."

"Walk," Draco spoke hoarsely. "Help me walk."

He had no idea where the sudden desire to fight was coming from. Maybe it was some long-forgotten reserve of family pride, maybe something in Potter's voice. In any case he managed to get up, clutch to his involuntary aide and make the first step. It took four stumbling trips back and forth across the room to set the energy from the potion flowing. Draco took a deep breath.

"Is it getting better?"

"Yeah, but don't stop."

The itching and spasms receded, leaving only an aftertaste of feebleness.

"Fine," said Draco. "You can put me down and go take a shower."

Potter steered him to the door. He didn't leave him there, though – he gave him a searching look instead, frowning.

"What?" snapped Draco.

He probably should have had held his tongue. The word apparently impelled Potter to make a final decision. "You're coming along," he said.

It was definitely not a question. Before Draco had a chance to ponder upon its meaning, he was sitting on the closed lid of the toilet, staring aghast at Potter taking off his T-shirt.

"Are you going to watch?" barked Potter crossly.

Draco quickly lowered his head. He would have turned away completely if he weren't afraid of falling. The seconds ticked by impossibly slowly. The steam from the shower made him cough and his nerves had gone completely haywire, strung up by the sound of water pattering against tiles and naked skin. His head, still bent down, kept buzzing long after it stopped.

"May I?"

Potter was wearing the same hideous T-shirt and pyjama bottoms as before, both clinging to his wet skin. Water trickled down from his hair and his eyes seemed larger and brighter without the glasses. When Draco nodded, the other boy put his hands on his shoulders.

"It's getting worse," he said calmly. "I feel sick when we are more than a step apart. Really sick."

The relief Draco had felt at the touch immediately dissolved into panic. Harry was worse when he was worse –

"But Madam Pomfrey says it will go back to how it was in the beginning, once you're all right. So try, ferret. You can starve yourself to death after we get out of this mess. Can you make it to the shower?"

Draco shook his head despondently.

"Fine." There was something in the short word that made Draco look up, bewildered. Potter looked nervous and his eyes had a strange glow. "Fine," he repeated quietly, "at least wash your face and comb your hair." He reached out his hand. Draco took it and stood up. As he leaned over the washstand and turned the water on, the world started spinning.

"Merlin, you will be the death of me," a voice came from the swirling fog which was all Draco saw. "Come, we're going back to bed."

He was aware of being dragged along like a puppet on a string, but still couldn't see properly, only feeling the way the matress sagged under him and the weight of the blanket Potter pulled over his legs. Finally, the fog cleared away. There was a crooked smile on Potter's face. "Well, at least I'm not bored anymore," he said, waving a comb in front of Draco's nose. "Now hold still and don't you dare fall asleep."

When the first shock abated, Draco relaxed and gave himself in to the unexpected bliss. Wow… Mustn't fall asleep… mustn't fall asleep…

"No sleeping, ferret."

"I always feel sleepy when someone combs my hair."

"You feel sleepy whatever you do nowadays."

Potter put the comb away and ran his fingers through his own wet mop of hair, shaking his head so that the untidy strands bristled and stood up in all directions.

"Ever thought of using a comb on yourself?" muttered Draco.

"What? No, it only makes everything worse."

"That's because you have no idea how to do it right."

"Teach me, then."

"Too much hassle. When I'm better, I'll style it for you."

Potter snorted. "Right, and you can paint my face too, when you're at it."

"Well, when you ask so nicely…"

There was something so normal and familiar about the squabble that for a while, Draco completely forgot how bad he felt, but then the faintness came back. His eyes closed of their own accord.

"Wonderful," said Potter and sighed. "I hope Pomfrey got hold of some more potions already. Get up, Malfoy, we're going for another stroll. You can't even start to imagine how much I hate you."

Draco smiled. Harry Potter still hates him. Maybe he's right. There will be plenty of time to starve himself to death when this is all over.

IV.

"It's Wednesday," said Potter. "It's been a week."

Draco looked up from the chessboard. The green eyes behind the glasses stared into nothingness, somewhere over Draco's shoulder. It was no surprise, really, that Draco had won every single game so far despite falling asleep in the middle of a few of them. Potter never managed to concentrate properly and always made the strangest moves.

"Yeah. Want to celebrate? We can get drunk on the disgusting muddy thing Pomfrey calls Nourishing Potion."

The dark-haired boy blinked and gave him a fleeting smile. "Great idea, ferret. Do you think I'm going to puke my guts up for half an hour after drinking it as you did yesterday?"

"I certainly hope so."

"I always knew you loved me, deep in your heart."

Draco hid his smile and blush behind the curtain of his fringe as he made a move with the bishop. "Check."

"Again?" Potter squinted at his pieces. At first they tried to play with the chessboard between them but they couldn't stay without contact for more than ten minutes and when they were holding hands it made their shoulder muscles cramp. Finally, they came up with a different position, Draco sitting in his nest of blankets with knees bent and Potter leaning on Draco's legs, therefore seeing the board sideways which made his poor strategic skills even worse. However, it was a good way how to kill time as there was basically nothing else to do apart from taking stumbling trips back and forth across the room under the influence of Energizing Potions, going to the bathroom for various, mainly very unpleasant reasons and trying not to excite Madam Pomfrey's wrath during the three daily check-ups. Draco realized he even started to look forward to seeing Weasley and Granger. They didn't talk to him and Potter always returned to his side of the bed whenever they came to visit, but it was a distraction all the same.

"Ron and Hermione are coming soon," said his opponent as if he read his mind, and made an absolutely useless move with a knight.

Draco sighed as he finished the game. "You're impossible."

"Play with Ron then."

"Weasley would poke my eye out with his queen before we could even start."

"Well, yes, I guess he would."

Potter wriggled, stretched, put his palms on Draco's knees and propped his chin on the top. Draco's heartbeat quickened annoyingly and a cold shiver went over his spine. He got hold of himself though, pushing the other boy away gently, but with resolution. A look of something close to disappointment flashed over Potter's face. It seemed he needed more contact than he let on.

"Not that I enjoy this slaughter of the innocents very much, but are you up for another game?" asked Draco.

At that moment there was a knock on the door. Potter scrambled to the other end of the bed and said: "Come in!" Draco felt a stab of pain. The combination of Energizing and Nourishing Potions helped him out of the worst but the pull of the bond was still much stronger than at the beginning.

As Granger popped her head in, a terrifying screech came from the corridor and a ginger streak shot into the room.

"Oh dear," sighed Potter as, with unerring Seeker reflex, he caught one of the chess pieces Crookshanks sent flying when he leaped on the bed. Draco had no illusions about his current abilities and simply ducked. He got a hit to the shoulder, fortunately with a pawn.

"I'm so sorry, boys," Granger said, resigned. Weasley's greeting was very ostentatiously directed solely to his mate and as he put the load of parchment rolls and books on the spare bed, Potter gave him a smile that spoke of undiluted pleasure. The red-head started to speak about something Quidditch-related at once, in a very confused fashion. Draco felt the usual stab of envy, jealousy and self-pity. He lowered his eyes and petted the cat which, meanwhile, found its way into his lap.

"Are you feeling better?"

It took Draco a minute to realize that Granger's question was meant for him. "Yes," he answered in a tone he used since the war whenever talking to anyone but Potter – careful, neutral, unassailable.

"We're still looking for more information but it is almost certain now that the love-spell interfered with your life-debt."

Draco bent his head a little more, shaking his fringe forward to shield his eyes. The debt… He would never be able to discharge it. It would surely be even more difficult, now that Potter, with his incomprehensible stubborness, went and pulled him from the edge of the cliff once more.

"We're searching for a way to separate the two magical influences. As you are not in love, the effects should disappear completely as soon as it's done."

Draco's stomach performed a first-rate flip and his temples started to pound. He was well aware that unless he touched Potter in the next five minutes, the energy from the potions would stop flowing properly and begin to feed the pain instead, so that he won't be able to eat more than two spoonfuls of the soup Madam Pomfrey forced on him every evening with sadistic pleasure.

"Have you thought about what would happen if I died?" he asked on impulse.

Granger paled considerably but didn't try to evade the question. "We have. The debt is on your side, so it would probably cease to exist along with you. It would possibly be unpleasant for Harry, maybe even painful, but he shouldn't be in any grave danger."

Draco nodded and turned away from her. She got the message right, because she moved to the pair of boys on the other side and started to discuss homework with them. Draco buried his fingers into Crookshanks' thick fur in the hope of warming his hands but, of course, it didn't work. He was always cold. Slowly, he slipped into a state of drowsy apathy. Then, suddenly, a wonderful spike of warmth went through his whole body as the familiar, comfortable weight of Potter's feet settled on his knees.

"Harry!" Weasley moaned in horror.

"I'm sorry, Ron, but there's no other way," said Potter in a tone that brook no objection.

"We'll soon find a solution, Harry, there's nothing to be worried about," Granger said cheerfully and went on with her lecture on some kind of charm. Draco exchanged a furtive glance with Potter and there was a flash of tacit understanding. There definitely _were_ things to worry about.

It wasn't a bad evening at all. Draco whispered nonsense to Crookshanks from time to time and half-listened to the Gryffindors' babbling as his thoughts glided in unusually calm waters. In fact, he didn't think about anything specific, simply enjoying the warmth of Potter's closeness, the softness of the cat's fur and the light tickling in his muscles caused by the last batch of potions. He almost felt happy.

He must have dozed off, for when Potter shook his shoulder, Crookshanks, Granger and Weasley were gone.

"Shower?"

Draco blinked groggily as he scrambled from the bed. Potter caught him under the arms but as soon as they made the first step, they stumbled, tripped over each other's legs and fell. Potter ended up on his back, winded. Draco landed right on top of him.

The dark-haired boy failed to catch his breath at first, gasping and coughing. When he finally succeeded, he groaned. Draco tried to lift himself but his arms didn't have the strength to hold him up, so he crashed back. After that, they both lay still.

"You should have those bones of yours registered as regulated weapons, Malfoy," wheezed Potter and coughed again.

"Registered? Where?" Draco mumbled.

"Never mind. It's a Muggle thing."

Neither seemed in a hurry to stand up but just as Draco started to wonder if he should take a nice nap, Potter put his palms flat on his shoulders and pushed. Draco reluctantly went with the move and sat up along with the other boy, immediately realizing that it put him in a supremely awkward position.

"I'm sitting in your lap," he stated the obvious.

Potter looked up. His glasses were askew, his hair hopelessly messed up and red blotches quickly spread over his cheeks. He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it and shut it again. He must have been seriously taken aback, because he forgot to let go of Draco's shoulders and kept staring into his eyes with a confused expression.

Suddenly Draco couldn't breathe properly and he didn't feel warm anymore, but hot. His heartbeat got jerky, completely out of rhythm. He lifted his hand to push away Potter's palm which seemed to burn through the thick material of Draco's sweatshirt, but his brain must have got the message wrong because the hand went to straighten Potter's glasses instead. The blond's fingertips brushed Potter's nose.

Harry gasped sharply.

Neither noticed the sound of the door opening.

* * *

Just as she and Ron came to the bottom of the steps leading to the Gryffindor Tower, Hermione realized that she took Harry's Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook by mistake. She pulled it from the stack of books Ron carried for her and ran back. It was only twenty minutes left to the curfew and Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let her in the hospital wing after that. She was in such a hurry that she didn't even bother to knock.

At first her brain failed to recognize what her eyes saw. She stood in the doorway, fingers still clutching the doorknob, and stared at them in confusion. Her view was partially obstructed with the bed but she could clearly see Harry's hands splayed on Malfoy's shoulders and the long, shockingly white fingers caressing Harry's face. The whole scene had a feel of unreality, as if it was taking place behind the glass walls of a fish-tank, and at the same time, it felt so intimate that it made her step back after a minute. She started to close the door. Then the thick tome she forgot she was holding slipped from her arms and fell to the ground with a loud thump.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered.

She expected Harry to jump up and trip over his own legs in embarassment, but he just turned to her with mild surprise, blinking. "That's fine," he said. "We were just going to the bathroom and fell. Are you all right?" he asked Malfoy in a low voice.

She didn't catch the blond's answer but she noticed how different Malfoy looked. His lips, usually held in a tight, disapproving line, were relaxed, slightly open, and the distinct signs of exhaustion and illness made his expression seem more vulnerable than haggard. Harry laughed. "Fine, now get up. I'll help you. You know, ferret, your arse is as damned pointy as the rest of you. I'll have bruises all over."

They stood up with some difficulty. Malfoy leaned on Harry heavily, glaring at Hermione suspiciously.

She rallied at once, picked up the textbook and brought it to the bed. "It's yours, Harry, I took it by mistake. Good night, boys."

"Night, Hermione."

As she was closing the door, she saw them entering the bathroom together.

_Together?_

She quickly slipped from the hospital wing, slowing down considerably once she was out. She needed to think – because the scene she'd just witnessed made all her theories go up in smoke. Or not? Upset, she drummed on the wall with her fingers. If it hadn't been so late, she would have gone straight to the library… but though she would never admit it aloud, it was clear that books wouldn't help her here.

Ron was waiting for her in the common room but he was deep in discussion with Dean so it didn't give her much trouble to shake him off. Her dorm-mates were used to the fact that she often drew the hangings around her bed shut in the evening to study in peace. This time however, she just cast an Imperturbable Charm, lay down and closed her eyes.

It couldn't be the love spell. It simply could not! If it were, the counterspell would have worked and the boys wouldn't feel pain, but irresistible attraction or something similar. No. The essential part of the bond must be Malfoy's life-debt, everything indicated that!

Except the situation she'd just walked in on.

She'd never seen an expression like that on Malfoy's face. If not for her interruption… Was it the first time they found themselves just seconds from a kiss? And what might they be doing in the bathroom right now?

She cut off this line of thought quickly. As far as she knew, Harry never showed any interest in boys. Not that he had ever shown a great interest in girls, for that matter, being always exceedingly shy and awkward where relationships were concerned. She racked her brains for any tidbit of gossip she might have remembered about Malfoy. There was Pansy, of course, constantly plastered all over him, and there had been a rumour going about that they were formally betrothed since they were children. Nothing else came to mind.

She suddenly felt tired. At the bottom of her heart she'd been looking forward to a year when she would finally be able to concentrate on her studies and have a taste of normal life. And now, there was this. Poor Harry. He wanted so much to have some peace…

She got out of bed and went to the bathroom. When she saw herself in the mirror she noticed deep lines stretching from the corners of her mouth. But the reflection of her own face disappeared as Malfoy's image floated before her inner vision once more. Whatever was going on between him and Harry, it was not just an act from Draco. Actually, he seemed a bit stunned as if he had no idea what was happening to him.

A pity she didn't see Harry's expression at that moment.

She put on her pyjamas, cleaned her teeth and went back to bed. Her head kept spinning with questions and ideas till it hurt. Nothing made sense.

She would have to observe the situation very carefully because this was not something to be found in books.


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks again to everyone who supports me in this! Reviews are always welcome and make me work faster.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

I.

"You kicked me again! I bruise easily, you know."

Harry looked up from Hermione's notes. He knew this tone. It was the trademark Malfoy whine. He hadn't heard it for quite a while.

Malfoy didn't disappoint Harry – he glared at him in a very patronising way and pouted. The illusion of a spoiled twelve-year-old was almost perfect if one ignored the deep shadowy hollows under his cheekbones and geometrically cut hair. Harry grinned and Malfoy's lips gave a twitch before he lowered his eyes.

Harry quickly returned to his notes. These moments felt awkward. They savoured strongly of friendship – if friendship manifested itself in palpitations and a tendency to stare pointlessly at a person.

Well, hell.

"Ouch!"

Harry started and gave the other boy an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry."

"Can't you keep those legs still for five minutes?"

"That's because we're sitting on this blasted bed all the time! It's getting on my nerves."

Harry was prepared for more upbraiding and complaints, but Malfoy fell silent for a minute and then muttered: "We could go for a walk. In the corridor. We're allowed to go there."

"We can't. You're ill."

"I feel better."

It was too much of a temptation. Harry really needed to get out of this cupboard-like cell for a quarter of an hour, at the very least. Maybe then he would stop thinking of nonsense. And Malfoy _was_ feeling better, mainly since he discovered the healing properties of chocolates from the large box Ron and Hermione had brought for Harry. Anyway, they wouldn't go far and if things got bad, Harry could always help Malfoy back somehow…

"Come on then. Get up."

As soon as they stepped out of the room, Harry got almost overwhelmed with excitement and joy. He squeezed Malfoy's hand and dragged him on. There was a heavy door leading, in all likelihood, to the main section of the hospital wing at one end of the corridor and an alcove with a sturdy cabinet at the other. Right next to it, the corridor took a sharp turn to the right. Harry went over there and saw a patch of sunlight radiating from behind another turn several feet farther.

"There must be a window there. Shall we have a look?"

Malfoy had no objections and it turned out Harry had been right – around the corner the corridor stretched on, illuminated with bright daylight pouring through two high windows fitted with wooden window-seats. Opposite them were four ordinary doors. The corridor was pretty narrow and as Harry looked out of the first window on the grassy slopes behind the school, Malfoy curiously opened the door across from it and peeked inside. Evidently, he saw something that piqued his interest, because he tugged at Harry's hand and pulled him into a pantry of sorts.

"A potions storeroom?" protested Harry. "Get stuffed, ferret."

"I'll just have a look."

Harry met the other boy's eyes and relented instantly. With a sigh, he squeezed himself further into the tiny room and watched Malfoy take one vial after another from the shelves and put them back again. He even shook Harry's hand off, so that he could pull the stopper from a bottle full of something sickly yellow. Harry automatically grabbed his elbow. The blond gave him a slightly startled look and then went back to his exploration.

Harry immediately wished he could take his hand away but that would only be a proof that he felt awkward too. A few minutes went by. Then he realised Malfoy's elbow was getting heavier, pressing sharply into his palm, as the blond unconsciously sought his support. Harry threw caution to the wind, set his perplexing feelings aside and stepped closer, slipping an arm around Malfoy's waist. Malfoy leaned on him with a sigh and put the box he was holding back on the shelf. "Well, we can go and stare from the window now. Whatever floats your boat," he said haughtily.

Harry smiled and dragged him to the window-seat suffused with the glow of the afternoon sun. He took off his sweater, one of those Mrs. Weasley had made for him over the years, and folded it up to make a cushion for Malfoy to sit on. They sat facing each other with knees raised and their feet touching. Malfoy turned his head to look outside. His hair seemed golden in the mellow light.

"Most of those potions were made by Professor Snape. He always made slight changes to the recipes, it's like a signature when you know what to look for," he said.

Harry winced at the name. The image of dead black eyes sprung up in his mind, followed by a suffocating wave of guilt, much more intense than all his other memories put together ever managed to excite. Many good people got killed in his war, but at least he had liked them.

"I might have brewed a few of those, too," continued Malfoy in a low voice, more as if he talked to himself. "Last year. When I couldn't sleep. Snape used to spend nights in his laboratory and let me work with him. We didn't talk. There was nothing to talk about."

Harry closed his eyes. People didn't like to speak about the year under the Carrows' rule. Neville and Ginny sometimes told tales about the more colourful adventures of their resistance movement but kept more or less silent when it came to the ordinary dark days between. It reminded Harry of his own aversion to speaking or even thinking of the Forest of Dean. It felt strange that the first one who had the guts to say something about the bleak seventh year here in Hogwarts was one of the defeated Death Eaters.

"Snape was my godfather, did you know that? He left me a dark damp house in a Muggle town, so ugly that the Ministry didn't even bother to contest the will."

Harry broke into Malfoy's soliloquy. "What are you going to do with it?" His heart was in his mouth. A godfather. A dark damp house. Sometimes it felt as if he and Malfoy were positive and negative of the same photograph.

"It's my home now. They took the Manor, I have nowhere else to go," said Malfoy listlessly.

Harry avoided _The Daily Prophet_ as much as he possibly could. He'd heard about the confiscation of Malfoy family estates and property, nevertheless, because the Weasleys received a part of it in terms of reparation. He just hadn't realised what it meant for his former enemy. He probably should have pitied Malfoy, but when he looked at him, all he saw was the peculiar calm emptiness of his face. The aristocratic name and lineage meant nothing now. All that remained was this skinny boy in second-hand grey sweatshirt, about whom Harry knew nothing.

Yet, for some mysterious reason, he _wanted_ to know him.

"My godfather left me a house too. Old, smelly and reeking with Dark Arts," he said in a sarcastic tone. "And I guess I also own the ruin of the house where Voldemort killed my parents." He nudged Malfoy's ankle with his foot. "We have great expectations, haven't we?"

Malfoy turned to him, studied him for a while and finally made a wry face. "Indeed. I'm positively thrilled."

II.

"Hey, ferret, wake up. Madam Pomfrey will be here any moment," whispered Harry.

Malfoy's lashes fluttered as he murmured something unintelligible. There were traces of black eyeliner left on his eyelids since yesterday and his unfocused gaze looked surprized and innocent. Mostly his eyes were light grey, sometimes dull, sometimes gleaming like quicksilver. They changed into mirrors, impenetrable and cold, whenever Hermione and Ron came. But in the first waking moments they were dark as sky before a storm. The same shade Sirius's eyes used to be.

"Come on, she'll bite your head off."

"It's Sunday," said Malfoy in a thick voice. "Why should I get up at seven in the morning on Sundays too?"

"Seven was the first time I tried. It's half past eight now."

"Fuck. I thought it was a dream."

Harry grinned. "You dream of me?"

Malfoy raised his brows. "Every night."

Harry blushed against his will. Sometimes it was too easy to get trapped by Malfoy's wit.

They stopped going to the bathroom together a couple of days ago as the bond loosened considerably and they hardly caused pain to one another when taking turns. Breakfast was still an ordeal, though. Harry became firmly convinced that watching Malfoy, pale, lips tightly drawn, make circles with a spoon in his bowl of over-sweetened porridge would easily quench the appetite of champions like Ron or Goyle.

When Madam Pomfrey arrived for the first check-up of the day, her expression was severe and reproachful as usual. She forced another batch of Nourishing Potions on the blond, who drank them dutifully, but as soon as the door closed behind her, grimaced, scrambled over to Harry's side and helped himself to two chocolates from the box lying on the bedside table. On the way back, he managed to squash Harry's legs and kick him sharply in the shin.

Just an ordinary day.

The strange thing was that Harry liked it. For the first time since the war ended he felt as if everything made at least a little bit of sense. Living here was very uncomplicated. The biggest challenge was a trip to the corridor, the gravest danger were Malfoy's deadly elbows – and Crookshanks, of course. When they lounged on the window-seat, talking about past year, Harry was somehow finally able to _see_ it all as past – a story with a beginning and an end that can't be changed. And now he saw many things from the other side too. When it came to adventure, Malfoy prefered listening to talking, which was a bit of a surprise, but ocassionally something snapped in him and he started to describe moments Harry had only known from his nightmares and the glimpses through Voldemort's mind.

On the whole, Harry didn't really mind this spell too much.

Suddenly, Malfoy snapped him from his musings. "Let's go outside. Sun is shining."

"Outside? Like out on the grounds?"

Malfoy sighed in exasperation. Harry glanced at him, taking in the eyes framed with glittering dark grey eye-shadow, for a change, and the upper lip smeared with chocolate. "Dream on," said the blond. "I meant out to the corridor."

"Oh. Sure."

They got up and went to the door, but Harry couldn't get the stain on Malfoy's lip out of his head and eventually couldn't restrain himself any longer. He stopped, licked a finger and wiped the smear from the blond's mouth. "Chocolate," he murmured and absent-mindedly licked the finger clean.

Malfoy froze and his eyes went dark as if he was going to faint. Then he ran his tongue over his lips. "Thanks," he said in a breathy voice.

Harry shivered. There was something about that mouth… He blinked and shook his head. "Come on."

They took their usual position on the window-seat but neither seemed too keen to talk. Harry had already finished his narrative about the Horcrux hunt the day before and he had enough of dragging up painful memories for now. Watching the other boy from below his eyelashes was much more interesting. For years, he'd seen Malfoy almost every day, yet apparently he missed out on something, because he had no idea when the little brat with slicked-back, almost yellow hair and nose in the air transformed into this long-legged, ashen-pale, weird creature. It was quite possible, though, that all the difference was due to the grisly make-up and strange taste in clothes. The sweatshirt Malfoy pulled out of his trunk this morning… In fact, this was the first time Harry saw him in something so… pink.

"Why do you wear this?" he asked. "It's Muggle clothes. And I don't want to burst your bubble but this sweatshirt is meant to be worn by girls."

Malfoy raised his brows. "So? I like it." Then he turned away as he said in a lower voice: "I have nothing except what little was left to me by Snape. When I got released from Azkaban, I found out that most of my personal possessions had been either destroyed or confiscated and I could hardly go shopping in Diagon Alley. I couldn't have afforded it anyway. You wouldn't know, I suppose, but you can get Muggle things extremely cheap, especially in summer sales." He shrugged and flashed Harry an unexpected smile. "They are nicer, too. Try to match any existing shade of lip-gloss with Snape's old wizarding robes."

Harry snorted and nudged him with a knee. Actually, he didn't care three straws about the way Malfoy dressed himself or painted his face. He never really took notice of other people's appearance, not even with girls. For sure, Cho had a nice smile and Ginny had beautiful hair…

He must have sighed aloud because Malfoy stopped staring wistfully at the sun-lit grass bank outside and looked at him. "What's wrong?"

Harry blushed. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"Of what?"

He wasn't in the mood to come up with excuses. "Ginny."

"Oh."

"I thought we would get back together after the war. And then, suddenly, we did, but somehow, there was nothing to talk about anymore. She was angry that I didn't let her go Horcrux-hunting with me and tried to send her away from the Final Battle, and she wanted to be with her family anyway. We hadn't seen each other for almost a month, except at funerals, and then the Weasleys invited me to stay with them for the rest of the holidays. It was horrible. Ginny stuck to me like a leech, all she ever wanted to do was kissing and… well, you know, things. She was really weird."

Malfoy gave him a penetrating look. "Potter," he said, "do you listen to yourself at all? A pretty girl wants to kiss you all the time and you think her weird? You should be beside yourself with joy! And it would fix your problem with talking too."

Harry felt an inexplicable jolt of anger. "I think kissing is overrated. You like it?"

The other boy looked away. "Hard to say."

"Did you like it with anyone?"

"I've never been kissed."

It took Harry a minute or two to get over the shock. He stared at the huge beautiful eyes and perfectly sculpted, though a bit thin upper lip. If there ever was anyone worth kissing…

Malfoy leaned his head down for a moment, hiding behind his hair. Then he glanced out of the window. "Pity we can't really go outside."

Harry banished the strangest idea that had ever entered his head and quickly said the first thing that came to mind. "Want some fresh air? That could be arranged." Grey eyes regarded him suspiciously. "You've always been mad at me, Hermione and Ron for traipsing around the castle at night, breaking the rules and not getting punished for it. You can give it a go now." Malfoy scrunched up his nose. Harry gave him a slow smile. "Scared, Malfoy?"

The blond straightened his shoulders in all his former aristocratic superiority. "You wish, Potter."

III.

It was not a good idea. No, scratch that. It was unbelieveably stupid. They didn't reach the ground floor yet and Draco already felt as if he was trudging through mud. When another staircase appeared in front of them in the light of Potter's wand, Draco tugged on the other boy's hand. Then he stumbled and pinned him to the wall. "Give me a moment," he whispered.

Potter tried to wriggle out, at least Draco thought so, but apparently he just wanted to free his hand to prevent the Invisibility Cloak from slipping. Then he stood still. Pleasant warmth radiated from his body and his heart beat strong and quick. Draco closed his eyes as he leaned his forehead against Potter's eternally messed up hair. It was surprisingly soft and smelled faintly of cherries.

"You pinched my shampoo," murmured Draco.

"Sorry."

It was almost impossible to resist. Not to give in to the closeness which felt so real but was actually completely fictitious. As long as Draco could hate Potter, as long as he had no hope whatsoever, he was able to live with it – but this friendship ripped him apart. If for no other reason, this was why he never could have been on the same side as Harry Potter. But there were no sides now and what used to be only a forbidden dream seemed so very, very close…

Minutes went by.

"Let's go back," said Potter.

Draco shook his head. "No, I only needed a rest. We're not giving up."

They went down the last flight of stairs, quietly crossed the Entrance Hall and slipped out into the intoxicating night air. There was a sharp cold wind but stars shone in between the clouds and the silence had a decidedly different quality here than in the stuffy space of their room. Potter laughed in delight and squeezed Draco's hand. They started forward without any clear sense of destination.

They ended up under the Quidditch stands. Potter stuffed the Invisibility Cloak into his pocket and they sat down, leaning against each other without a word. Draco stared at the grass in front of him, discerning a dark spot here and there. Burns. Battle scars. Hogwarts was covered with them despite the efforts of all the teachers and countless volunteers who worked all summer to restore the castle to its former glory. The only place where they succeeded in full had been the Great Hall, but there was still plenty of work left elsewhere and many areas on the grounds had simply been left to heal naturally.

And then there were the marks which would never disappear.

Draco bit his lip, trying hard not to think of the black tattoo that would always remain etched on his skin. Of course, it promptly began to itch and burn, and although he knew it was just an illusion, a crippling fear swept through him.

"Look, isn't that a broom?"

Draco looked up with a start and soon saw the thing Potter was pointing at. There was something lying at the base of the stands. Predictably, Potter stood up and went to explore. Not even a war managed to beat the stupid curiosity out of him.

It was an ordinary school broom, but Potter took it in his hands with such reverence as if it were a custom-made model with a diamond-encrusted handle. Draco immediately knew what was coming.

Potter didn't disappoint him. "Come, fly with me. Just a few rounds. You don't have to do a thing, I'll hold you. Please?"

Draco swallowed with difficulty. Saying no should have been easy… But it wasn't, he couldn't do it. In a dream-like state, he nodded.

As soon as they rose from the ground, Draco knew he had just made a terrible mistake. The icy wind whistling around their ears seemed to carry the smell of ash and the sinister crackling of flames. It was so cold it burned. And Potter held Draco too close, too tight, there was nowhere to run. In the end he couldn't stand it anymore. He tried to break away from Potter's grip, flailing his arms blindly, and their broom went to a free fall for a few mad seconds. Then, mercifully, he blacked out.

He came to his senses lying on solid ground, cushioned by wet, fragrant grass, feeling strangely calm and weightless. Then the familiar smell of mint filled his nostrils and something liquid blocked his throat. He choked, coughed and then his cold muscles screamed in agony as the energy of the potion hit him with full force.

"I'm so sorry, Malfoy, so terribly sorry. I'm a prize idiot. It was absolutely, incredibly stupid of me to drag you flying, of all things. Forgive me," babbled Harry in a panicked voice, lifting Draco up and holding him so tight in his arms that he nearly broke his ribs. Draco huffed in protest but didn't have either the strength or the heart to resist him. As he pressed himself into the warm embrace he thought that he'd at least chosen the best possible place for dying. He lay his head on Harry's shoulder and waited for the heat of the other boy's body to seep into his skin. Inside, he was frozen.

"Fuck," said Harry. "It's starting to rain. Can you get up?"

"No," murmured Draco. His lips brushed the soft skin of Harry's neck, the touch flooding him with a crazy feeling of elation. The moment was soon gone, though, leaving behind nothing but enormous fatigue.

"We'll get drenched."

Draco lifted up his head and looked around in daze. The stars weren't shining anymore and the darkness seemed impenetrable. He felt water running in rivulets from his hair behind the collar of his sweatshirt. "I'm cold," he said weakly.

"Me too. Let's go inside, there's nothing else to be done."

It was a ghastly journey. Deep silence reigned in the corridors and their steps made a dull, endless echo. When they were half up the second flight of stairs, Draco's knees gave up and he collapsed. Potter just sat beside him, took his hands and rubbed them as if he hoped they would stop being so cold. It was much later when they finally arrived to the hospital wing, hidden under the Cloak, and stumbled to their cell. Draco thought it must be long after dawn but the room was dark. Potter's alarm-clock showed that it was only two in the morning.

They fell heavily on the bed. After a while, Potter sat up, took off his soaked sweatshirt and a hesitant second later his T-shirt too.

"Get up. I'll help you," he said.

Draco dragged himself to a kneeling position but his fingers were stiff and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make them grasp the hem of his sweatshirt. Potter gently pushed his hands away then and started to undress him.

Draco had to shut his eyes firmly. He prayed that Harry would stop at the undershirt but apparently, gods weren't listening just then. When knuckles brushed his naked skin, Draco clenched his teeth so hard that it hurt. He felt Harry toweling his hair and shoulders, with his own T-shirt in all likelihood, then pushing him back into the pillows and lying beside him as he pulled a blanket over them.

"I'll move to my side when you're warm enough," Harry said in a whisper.

"Don't go. Stay here with me," murmured Draco, rolled over on his side and snuggled as close to the other boy as he could. "Good night."

IV.

It wasn't a particularly nice morning. The little window showed a small piece of steel grey sky and the room drowned in pools of half-light and shadow. Draco was awake but he had no reason to move. He found himself exactly where he most wanted to be. In bed with Harry Potter.

The warmth of Harry's skin kept him on the edge of drowsiness. He breathed in the scent of his hair, cherries overridden with dirt and rain. Draco didn't want it to end. There used to be times when he imagined moments like this in the twilight zone before sleep, waking the morning after full of hatred and humiliation, the emotions getting stronger every time it happened. But he didn't care anymore. He had no future, no family whose name he could shame. He could stay with Harry under the blanket and hope that the other boy would not push him away when he came awake. He could do anything. Well, anything Harry allowed him to do.

The arm loosely circling Draco's waist twitched. "Hi," mumbled a sleepy voice against the blond's shoulder.

"Hi."

Fingers crept slowly up over the bumps of Draco's spine. He shut his eyes. Harry breathed out slowly as his hand reached Draco's nape and caressed the downy blond fluff there. "You've got grass in your hair," he said.

Draco squirmed. "Dirt, too. It itches like mad."

"Mmm. Don't get up yet."

"I couldn't if I wanted. My legs feel completely numb."

That wasn't exactly true. His legs ached terribly but he had a very good idea of their whereabouts, one of his knees being wedged between Harry's thighs. At any rate, he was determined to keep it there as long as possible.

They simply lay without moving for a while. Then Harry's hand went to explore some more. "You'd make a wonderful tool for teaching anatomy, as far as bones are concerned," he grumbled. "I keep forgetting you're in such a bad state. I shouldn't have taken you out, much less have you fly with me. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing. It was my fault too," said Draco magnanimously.

Without warning, Harry rolled on his back, taking Draco with him. The blond tried to repay in kind but he didn't have sufficient strength, so he settled for jabbing Harry's ribs with his elbow and then squashed him with his full weight. Harry laughed and ruffled his hair. A cloud of dust rose in the air, making them both cough.

"It seems we'll have to get up after all," gasped Draco as he sat up and scrambled off Harry's lap before the crazy moment from last week could have repeated itself. Then he gave a strangled yelp.

It seemed as if a pack of sopping wet dogs ran over the bed and all around the room. Sweatshirts and T-shirts lay on the floor in pools of rainwater, the underside of the blanket was dirty and the sheets were covered with dried mud. Harry's hair resembled a bird's nest more than ever and his jeans were covered with grass stains. Draco's sweatpants were not fit to mop a floor with.

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" moaned Harry.

Draco suddenly re-discovered a bit of his lord-of-the-manor attitude. He snapped his fingers and two house-elves promptly Apparated into the room. He started to bark orders. Harry spoiled it with many a needless "please" or "thanks", but the room was soon restored nevertheless. The only unpresentable things left were themselves.

"We have to go and take a shower," said Harry, glancing at the alarm-clock. "Quickly. Pomfrey will be here in twenty minutes."

The walk to the bathroom turned out to be too much for Draco, however. His head started spinning and his legs really felt numb this time. He collapsed on the toilet lid, trying not to watch Harry taking his jeans off just a few inches from him. The nausea was rapidly getting worse, though, and when it crossed the line of his endurance, Draco panicked. He reached out till his hands met bare skin and spread his fingers over it. The faintness ebbed away, but the feeling of helplessness and blind fear remained. He wanted to say something, but only managed a pitiful sob.

Then Harry was kneeling in front of him, naked, and rubbed his shoulders. "You're sick, aren't you? Come, we'll shower together. We're both boys, for Merlin's sake, there is nothing in it."

A sharp pain pierced right through Draco's heart, and it definitely wasn't an effect of the bond. There was nothing in it. Of course.

Next ten minutes felt like a distant memory. Draco didn't know nor care what happened. He was more or less sure that he hadn't washed his hair himself but otherwise he shielded his mind completely, so that he wouldn't feel the touches at all. They didn't mean anything, anyway. It had all been just wishful thinking, a desperate attempt to find something to hold on to. It would be better to disappear after all. To vanish into thin air. Become invisible.

As the pattering of water stopped, he slowly connected with reality again, but he still felt like someone under the Imperius Curse. He dried himself off, put on clean clothes and curled into the nest of fresh bedsheets and pillows, ignoring Harry, the breakfast and also Madam Pomfrey when she came. He didn't refuse the Nourishing Potion, though, because he knew that his body would soon reject magical nutrition for good – he only needed to stop eating again. Harry would be free then, and he as well, in a way.

"Do you want some chocolate?" said a shy voice and a warm hand patted Draco's shoulder.

Draco shook his head.

"Look, ferret, I'm sorry you're worse. Don't be angry with me."

Draco lifted his eyes, but when he saw the confused, worried look of the other boy, he had to blink away tears. He took a deep breath. He mustn't make fuss. He came to terms with the way things were years ago, and soon it would be all finished. "I told you to stop apologizing. I'm just tired," he murmured.

"Sure you are. And your hair is a mess. Can I comb it for you again?" Harry didn't even wait for an answer, reached for the comb lying on the bedside table and started to unravel the tangled strands. Draco felt himself relaxing against his will. What more did he want? "You promised to teach me the right way of combing my hair last time," added Harry after a minute or two. "And how to wear make-up, too. Pity you should be so exhausted right now."

That was too much of a challenge. Draco sat up straight. "Give me the bag."

In a minute, he had his fingers running through the unruly, gorgeously thick black hair. He realized at once that there was nothing in the world that could tame it, not even magic, but he enjoyed the opportunity too much, so he flattened the mass down, arranged it into spikes with plentiful amounts of wax and fixed the whole masterpiece with hairspray. Harry sneezed. His hair immediately sprung up and bristled wildly in all directions. Draco laughed aloud. "Fine, I give up. Take off your glasses."

"Wait, you really want to paint my face?"

"Of course I do."

Harry sighed in a distinctly down-trodden tone, took off his glasses, put them on the other bed, closed his eyes and tilted his head back. Draco's hands started shaking. He could just lean down a little, those lips were positively begging him to… He turned away and sorted through his make-up kit. When he was more or less sure that he could restrain himself, he took out a tube of liquid eyeliner, which he seldom used himself, and gently held Harry's chin.

"Don't move."

With two fluid strokes of the tiny brush he applied the black lines, extending them slightly past the outer corners, and blowed on them softly. He put the lid back on the tube, returned it to the bag and said in a shaky voice: "You can open your eyes now." And then he was drowning. The green irises glimmered and burned, so huge, bottomless…

"Draco," whispered Harry and kissed him.

It was just a brief touch of lips, it couldn't have taken more than two seconds, but Draco felt as if the earth started rotating in the opposite direction.

"S-sorry," stammered Harry when he pulled away, eyes wide with shock. "I…"

"Oh, shut up, Potter," said Draco dazedly and kissed him in return. He probably did it all wrong, but Harry didn't seem to mind. In fact, Draco thought it quite brilliant. All the bad-mouthing, fighting and pranks… nothing could compare to this. It was like diving on a broomstick in full speed, like flying over the flames of Fiendfyre… He felt dizzy, he couldn't breathe, but he didn't want to stop. Ever.

He had to, though. They both ran out of air at the same moment, gasped and pulled away. Only then did Draco notice that Harry was straddling his thighs and hugging him tight around the neck, watching him with slightly unfocused eyes as if he'd just seen him for the first time.

"I guess I've been kissing the wrong people," he said.

Draco searched for something to say, a biting comment, a witty reply, anything, but nothing came to him. Suddenly he knew. If either of them said anything at all, they would both wake up from this moment and everything would disappear. He put a finger on Harry's lips and looked into his eyes. After a while, Harry seemed to understand and nodded without another word.

Draco leaned in for another silent kiss.

* * *

It was very quiet in the library. Most of the students were outside, enjoying the unexpected return of sunny weather. Hermione browsed through a thick, ancient tome. After years of working on similar study projects, the archaic English posed no real problem for her and she was able to skip from one chapter heading to another swiftly. She knew it was useless, however. No one with honourable intentions would want to release themselves from an honourable debt. Apparently, a solution without the use of Dark Arts did not exist.

She heard the steps, but looked up only when the chair opposite her scraped against the floor.

"Hi, Ginny," she said, smiling. She hadn't forgiven Ron's sister entirely yet, but she didn't have the heart to look at her reproachfully all the time. Ginny had been withdrawn and melancholy since the incident and that seemed to be punishment by itself.

Ginny sat down, running a hand through her long hair nervously. "Hi. Anything new?"

"I'm afraid not."

The red-head fidgeted and sighed. Then she reached into her pocket and took out a crumpled piece of parchment. "I got a letter from Harry, a house-elf brought it after lunch. He's breaking up with me."

Hermione eyed the parchment with curiosity. It was filled with writing from top to bottom. "From Harry? So long?"

"Yeah, I was surprised too. I… Would you mind reading it, please?"

"Well," Hermione hesitated. "If you want."

It seemed awkward and she started reading the letter without any great enthusiasm – and then her eyes widened in astonishment. She quickly read the whole thing through and went back to the beginning, not to skim over it again, though. She just stared at the words, thinking hard. The letter had definitely been written by Harry, there was no doubt of that. She recognized his style and phrasing from the dozens of essays she had proof-read for him over the years. Yet she understood exactly why Ginny wanted to show it to her. There was something… well, strange about it.

"Harry is right," she said absent-mindedly, not able to take her attention from the letter completely. "You never really got back together after the war ended. You should have had broken up right then."

"Don't I know it," muttered Ginny. "If he had written this to me or told me before that thing happened, it wouldn't have happened at all. But you know how he was and I was fed up with it and…" She shrugged. "In fact, it's a relief to finally know for sure."

They were silent for a while. Hermione still kept looking at the parchment.

"Is it really so serious?" asked Ginny suddenly. "Why haven't you found a way to break that bond yet? It was just a silly spell for silly girls."

"Love spells and potions are not illegal for nothing," Hermione said sharply. "They are unstable, have unpredictable side-effects and their impact varies from person to person. That's exactly why no one should fool around with them." She paused and then added in a lower voice: "There is a ritual which can dissolve most magical bonds, including life-debts. It's very dark, though. Lots of blood and such. But if there's no other way, we'll have to do with it. People from the outside are starting to notice that Harry is gone. We just have to wait till Malfoy gets better because he probably wouldn't survive the ritual in the state he's in now."

Ginny went extremely pale. "Oh Merlin, that's horrible," she whispered. "I didn't know… They must hate me. And it must be a nightmare for them, being together all the time."

Hermione straightened her shoulders. "Actually, it's not," she said slowly. "Strangely enough, they are more or less okay with it. I even think they are quite friendly by now."

She glanced at the parchment again. Yes, that was it. It was not a letter one would write when stuck in a bare cell with his worst enemy who is slowly dying of starvation. It glowed with energy and something like excitement.

There was something going on with Harry.


	5. Chapter 5

As always, your reviews are wonderful and make me happy. Here's another chapter for you. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

I.

A ball of crumpled parchment landed on the textbook Harry was reading. He looked up. Draco watched him silently, his eyes shining as if he had a fever. Harry felt the familiar mix of nervousness and excitement crashing like a wave all over him. He still wasn't sure what was going on, not even after four days of this, but he couldn't resist the calling. He put down the quill, from the tip of which a large blob of ink had splashed onto the page, moved to the other side of the bed and hesitantly put a hand on the blond's knee. Draco patted the matress right next to him. Harry smiled, laid down beside the other boy and burrowed his head under Draco's chin. Draco put an arm around his shoulders and propped his own textbook against his bent knees, so that they could both read at the same time.

They didn't say a word. From time to time, Draco ran his fingers through Harry's hair and Harry closed his eyes for a moment to better savour the warmth of the other's body and its unaccustomed lines and angles. It was perfect, but only as far as it remained mute. The words would have reminded them of who they were. As long as they kept it silent, they could do whatever they wanted in the different, safe, secret world they had created.

Not that Harry knew what exactly it was that he wanted. He liked it when Draco moved to his side of the bed every evening after they put the lights out, slid under the blanket and snuggled so close that Harry was left with bruises where the sharp bones pressed into his flesh too long. He remembered every kiss, every touch where no one else had touched him before. There had been the moment when he was leaning on the frame of the bathroom door watching Draco, dressed in a turquoise T-shirt clinging to his wet skin, completely focused as he slowly applied glittering eye-shadow with his index finger… the moment in the potions store room when there were only the sounds of skin rubbing against skin and gasping breaths echoing through the darkness…

In all those moments, they never said a word. It seemed unreal, in a way, as if it really was nothing more than a spell.

Harry moved away and sat up. He waited a suitable amount of seconds, so that the sense of intimacy was gone before he spoke. "Hermione will be here any moment now," he said.

"We haven't even finished yesterday's homework yet," said Draco in a grumpy tone. "I don't know how I am supposed to write fourteen inches of parchment about a single rune when I have no access to the library."

"Ask Hermione, she will help you."

Draco made a wry face. "Ask Granger? I always knew your saving-people-thing would lead to disaster, but it never crossed my mind that you would drag _me_ into it and make me lose all self-esteem."

"Yeah, it's a great misfortune. Next time, I'll do Ron a favour and let you snuff it."

The blond curled his lip. "Promises, promises."

Harry laughed and went back to his side. He wished he could lie curled beside Draco for a while longer but the short conversation broke the spell. He went back to his homework, but he was miles away, in fact, contemplating their situation.

Nothing made sense. Malfoy, who had stomped on his face in a fit of cold anger a couple of years ago, now watched him with shy wonder when he woke up in the morning, eyes wide and full of something unsettling. Malfoy, who had hurled insults and threw dirt at him all the time, now couldn't break the silence and say the words that needed to be said. Malfoy, who had hated him, now… what? Harry honestly didn't know.

Yet there was the thought that nagged at him unceasingly – that maybe, this should have happened long ago.

He finally made himself concentrate on the parchment with notes.

Hermione arrived an hour after dinner, much later than usual. She conscientiously kept bringing them homework and helped them with anything that was new, but she seemed distracted lately, lacking the calm cheerfulness of the first weeks and seldom taking Crookshanks with her.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry cautiously while she was reading through his Charms essay. He was afraid that the question would make her cry – it was exactly the kind of innocent line that would surely drive Cho or even Ginny to tears – but Hermione only shook her head.

"Nothing, really," she answered quietly. "I'm just worried about you." She threw a glance at the other end of the bed. "Both of you."

"We're fine, considering the situation." He was a bit ashamed that he was not telling her the whole truth. He jerked his chin in Draco's direction. "He's feeling much better. Eats more."

Hermione nodded, then fidgeted and took a deep breath. "You wrote Ginny a letter," she said in so low a voice that he hardly caught the words.

"You can speak up," said a listless, formal voice at the opposite end of the bed. "I am not listening."

Harry made a point of not looking at Draco. The apathetic mask terrified him and he could lose his head and try to kiss it off. "He is, but I don't mind," he said, kicking Draco's shin for good measure. "Yeah, I wrote to her. She's mad at me, isn't she?"

"No, she isn't. I think she's glad to have it all cleared up."

"Me too."

He felt a bare foot touch his ankle and looked up after all. Draco was hiding behind his hair but Harry guessed that he was smiling. He wished he could see it.

Hermione still sat unnaturally straight, clutching the parchment so hard that it crumpled between her fingers. Suddenly, in a needlessly shrill voice, she said: "Reporters from the _Daily Prophet_ started to sniff around the school a few days ago." Then she turned to Draco. "And apparently, you are not so irrelevant to your housemates as you have thought. Last week, a second-year Slytherin girl came to McGonagall and reported you missing. She was very upset and threatened to file a petition with the Ministry."

"Emily," whispered Draco. "Our Seeker. I never realized…" Harry caught his eyes, dark and frightened, and shivered unvoluntarily. The feeling of being safe was gone. He desperately wanted to go to Draco and hold him close.

"We have to do something," he said, his tone very determined, and looked at Hermione. "You know what's going to happen when it gets to the papers. They will take us to St. Mungo's, separate us no matter what it takes, and they probably won't care what happens with Draco as long as I stay in one piece."

"You're both of age, no one can make you –"

"I was a Death Eater, Granger," interrupted Draco harshly. "They didn't put me to Azkaban but the Ministry still can hold it over me, strip me of any rights they choose and take me where ever they want. And where I go, Potter goes too, you know that."

"McGonagall won't allow it. And maybe…" Hermione brushed a loose strand of hair from her face. "I shouldn't give you false hopes, but the truth is, I've found something. A ritual. The Headmistress is verifying the details right now and we'll discuss it from medical point of view with Madam Pomfrey tomorrow. It's… risky. Malfoy needs to get considerably better before we attempt anything like it."

Harry's stomach clenched painfully.

All three of them went on with their homework, lost in their own thoughts, the silence in the room thick and heavy. As soon as Hermione left, Draco got up from the bed, went to the bathroom and stayed there for so long, that Harry's head nearly burst with pain. When they got back and laid down, each on his own side, Draco put the lights out. Harry stared into the dark, feeling so many words forming on his tongue, but whenever he opened his mouth to say them aloud, they disappeared. He waited for Draco to come to him… and waited. He fell asleep alone.

He dreamed about the Great Hall, silent, wrecked, covered with spiderwebs. The silvery threads, dull with dust, stretched over the faces of the dead. Their eyes were open, glassy, yet stared directly at him. They weren't the dead from the Final Battle, though. It was Draco Malfoy, dark shadows staining his gaunt cheeks. Ten times. Hundred times. Harry didn't save him after all.

He woke up with a start. The darkness choked him, something heavy pressed on his chest –

"It's me, Harry. You had a bad dream, it's all right now. Don't cry. Come here."

The words suddenly appeared out of nowhere, the right words. "Are you afraid?" whispered Harry.

"Scared to death. But not when I'm with you."

"Kiss me."

Draco chuckled and then Harry felt a soft touch of lips. He sighed as he curled into the horribly uncomfortable, pointy bliss of Draco's arms. The dream didn't return.

II.

Normally, Draco moved to his side of the bed first thing in the morning and then they both pretended that nothing had happened, but this time he stayed, although Harry had been awake for several minutes and Draco must have known it. Not that Harry was complaining. He lay completely still, eyes tightly closed and counted the wonderful moments by the rhythmic exhalations that tickled the back of his neck.

Then a hand slipped under his T-shirt and started drawing slow circles over his ribcage, as if it wanted to memorize the ridges and make a detailed map afterwards. Harry bit his lip in an attempt to supress any reaction, but his heart beat so furiously that he heard the blood hissing in his veins. The silence had been broken at night, but it was easy to speak in the darkness, only half-awake. Now, he was terrified and felt his courage waning. He took a bracing breath. Then the unexpected happened.

"Do you think Granger really is on to something?" Draco murmured.

Harry wanted to laugh out loud in joy. He wanted to roll over and squash the silly git from sheer delight. Instead, he said: "Yeah. She wouldn't have told us otherwise."

"She didn't seem too happy about it."

"No, she didn't."

Draco's hand clenched into a fist convulsively. Harry reached for it, held it for a minute, then turned around and looked into the grey eyes, clouded with anxiety.

Then they were kissing and Draco pressed to him more desperately than ever and Harry stopped thinking and just felt what he had never felt before and yet somehow always had felt – something boundless, nameless, uncontrollable, a rush of emotion that quickened his blood and made his head spin till all that was left of the world were he and Malfoy and nothing else mattered. This had been here long before Cho and long before Ginny, an obsession which had to take the form of hatred, because the other option was the thing they were doing right now and that was something Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy couldn't even dare to think about.

But the war was over now and this painfully thin boy smelling of cherries and mint was not Draco Malfoy as much as Harry was not the one who had to save the world anymore. Maybe they could – would dare to…

"It's late," mumbled Harry against Draco's lips, reluctant to pull away, and the sound of his voice filled him with excitement. "Pomfrey's coming soon."

"Mmm." Draco wrapped his arms even tighter around Harry, squeezed hard and then grudgingly let him go.

"On the other hand, maybe a nice little shock would do her good," said Harry.

Draco chuckled. They both sat up and looked at each other. Then, at the same time, they leaned for another kiss, nearly crashing their heads together.

"You still want to break my nose?" murmured Harry.

"Definitely," Draco purred, eyes shining with something very close to happiness as he reached for the hem of Harry's T-shirt and started to pull it off.

When Madam Pomfrey entered the room ten minutes later, it was a very close call.

As soon as Harry saw her face, the pleasurable haze of the morning snog vanished. Things only got progressively worse from that point. The Healer tortured Draco for what seemed like three quarters of an hour, prodding every inch of his body with her wand. She even plucked out a few hairs from his head and cut his finger, collecting a small amount of blood into a glass vial. Finally, she snapped her fingers and house-elves immediately appeared with the breakfast trays. Harry thought with alarm that she was going to stay and watch Draco eat, which would definitely put him off food for the rest of the day at least, but thankfully, she just gave a nod and left.

By that point, Draco was grey in the face and shivered uncontrollably. He pushed the cocoa and croissants as far away as he could, his expression cold and shuttered. Harry moved to his side at once, his mind made up. He ignored the anxiety gripping his own insides, broke a croissant into small pieces, ate one himself and brought another to Draco's lips. The blond obediently opened his mouth and let Harry feed him. It seemed far more intimate than any kiss and as Harry watched the icy eyes melting bit by bit, he knew for sure that they would not retreat to the silence any time soon.

"They really found something," said Draco in a hushed voice after he swallowed.

"Looks like they did," said Harry. "I don't know if I should be glad or not."

Draco took a piece of croissant and put it in Harry's mouth. "I want the spell to end."

"Me too. But not when the price is too high."

Breakfast took much longer than usual and the air of uneasiness only broke when Draco bit Harry's finger as he was feeding him the last piece. Harry messed up the other boy's hair in retaliation, earning himself a poke in the ribs along with one of the rare dazzling smiles that were so new to him.

"I need a shower," said Draco suddenly, the smile gone, eyes cast down. "Want to come along?"

Harry blushed furiously. He remembered only too well what it had been like the last time he showered with Malfoy – the shocking realization that he had been grossly mistaken as to what the full meaning of the word "attraction" was. He had to pretend he was simply helping Draco in need then – but this time, it wouldn't be just about washing the blond's hair. And it wouldn't be dark in there, allowing them to act as if nothing had happened afterwards…

"I don't know," he answered shakily.

"We're both boys," Draco quipped, but there was a flash of uncertainty in his voice. "There is nothing in it, is there?"

"There is." Harry straightened his shoulders and looked directly at Draco. "There is now, and you know it."

The grey eyes widened, but before Draco could react in any other way, there was a knock on the door.

It was Hermione. She looked grave, nervous and held a single book in her arms, a thick old tome. An unusually calm Crookshanks circled around and between her legs in a half-hearted attempt to trip her up. Harry started and thought of moving quickly to his side of the bed, but then he stayed put. It would seem suspicious if he fled. Fortunately, house-elves chose that moment to Apparate to the room and clear up the breakfast trays with great clatter, giving Harry the chance to calm down and stop thinking about the possibilities of showers. He only hoped he was not so red in the face as a minute ago.

Hermione sat on the spare bed and said: "I came to tell you what we found."

III.

It was the sixth year all over again. The icy abyss of horror into which Draco fell deeper and deeper with every hour in the Room of Requirement. The utter certainty that he couldn't do it. The terrible, crushing pressure.

Then a hand squeezed his shoulder.

"Oh Merlin. Where did you find this, Hermione?" whispered Harry. His gesture had been completely automatic, apparently he had no idea what his hand had done of its own accord as he stared at the page covered with brownish stains blurring the contorted letters.

"In the restricted section, where else?" Granger answered.

Draco blinked but the writing on the parchment did not change. One word still stood out, repeated over and over in every other sentence, leaving a metallic taste on Draco's tongue. He closed his eyes and leaned a little bit closer to Harry to feel the strength of his presence.

"The blood," he said in a scratchy voice, "all the blood… should be mine?"

"Exactly," confirmed Granger quietly.

Harry made a muffled sound, very much like a mewl of a forlorn kitten. Draco had to stop himself from hugging and comforting him.

"It's Dark Arts."

Granger nodded with a sigh. "But it's also the single solution with a guaranteed outcome. We have been searching for nearly a month now and nothing else came out of it. I'm very sorry, Draco."

"There's no place for me in the ritual. Why?" blurted out Harry. "If not for the bond, I could as well be on another continent! That's not fair!"

"Everything is not about you, Potter," Draco retorted. Harry flinched, gave him a reproachful look and took his hand away. Draco cursed silently. "The debt is mine," he added in a softer tone. "The sacrifice must be mine too."

Harry glanced at him. "The whole thing's absolutely horrid," he muttered.

"I used to be a Death Eater. A lousy one, but still. I went through a few horrid rituals in my time. And there were worse things than a few drops of blood at stake."

In fact, the sheer thought of any amount of blood made Draco queasy. Father would have whipped him with his cane, if he had been there.

"The trouble is that it is a full-moon ritual. If we don't hold it at the nearest full moon, we will have to wait another month – but we can't keep the papers off track for more than two weeks, I'm afraid," said Granger.

"And the nearest full moon is…?" asked Harry.

The girl looked away. "On Tuesday."

It felt like breathing honey. The ensuing silence transfigured the air in the room into a thick, almost tangible substance. It filled Draco's ears, glued his eyelids together, poured over him and crushed him.

"No. No, no, no."

Draco heard the words from afar and at first wondered whether it was him who repeated them over and over. Then the voice continued and it surely wasn't his.

"That's only two days. He can't afford to lose so much blood, Hermione, he's still terribly weak. He could die!"

"I know it's dangerous, Harry, but there's no other way."

"We'll wait another month."

"Remember what you said yesterday? As soon as the _Daily Prophet_ sniffs it out, the Ministry will take things into their own hands and someone will soon realize that the easiest way out is to get rid of Draco. And Ginny will have to stand trial, as well as Luna. They are both of age."

"We'll move to Grimmauld Place. And we'll do without any kind of nasty dark rituals, thank you very much. You will find another way to break the spell, it's just a matter of time. Or Draco will save my life, somehow. I'll wait."

Suddenly, Draco was able to breathe freely again and everything seemed crystal clear. He shook his head and calmly said: "Don't be daft, Potter. Is it the night from Monday to Tuesday, or from Tuesday to Wednesday, Granger?"

"From Tuesday to Wednesday."

"Brilliant. A day more. I can do it."

Harry grabbed his shoulder and turned him roughly, so that they were seeing eye to eye. "You can't be serious," he said sharply. "I won't let you do anything like that."

"Tough luck. You have absolutely no say in this."

"I fucking do!"

"You fucking don't. It's my debt."

"Who cares about the bloody debt anymore? You just _won't do it_!"

Anger swept Draco away, the anger that only Potter could ever make him feel. "Ginny might have obeyed your every whim, but don't you dare think I'll do the same!" he snapped. "I'm not your girlfriend!"

"Of course you're bloody not!" yelled Harry. "We've already made it clear that we're both boys and if I'm not mistaken, that makes you my boyfriend!"

The silence that followed was deafening. Draco nearly choked as his anger turned into a sweet anguish and then shock in quick succession. The green eyes behind the glasses mirrored the same feelings. Harry blinked and opened his mouth to speak, but Granger made a faster recovery.

"You…" she gasped. "Oh god, I knew it. It's the love spell after all! So why the hell is no one able to end it? There must be something –"

"Granger!" Draco interrupted her babbling in a strict tone. He would never have dreamed of discussing anything with her, much less his personal affairs, but this was too serious. "Granger, calm down. We are not under the influence of a love spell. At least I'm not."

"What else could it be? You couldn't stand each other a fortnight ago!"

Draco took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "Bollocks. I've been in love with Harry since fifth year."

When he opened his eyes again, Granger was staring at him incredulously and Harry had the look of someone recently hit with a Bludger.

"Fine," Granger blurted. "Fine. You two should talk. I'll leave you alone." She got off the bed, snatched Crookshanks who slept through it all peacefully and left the room.

"You hated me," Harry spoke hoarsely, an expression of childish wonder on his face.

"Those feelings are not mutually exclusive, I guess. I hated you the more because of it," muttered Draco.

Harry threw his arms around Draco's neck and hugged him so tight, that he nearly strangled him. Draco leaned his head against Harry's and watched the fair hair mix with the black. It was perfect.

They didn't move apart for the rest of the day, forgot all about showering, just stayed in bed, sometimes curled up together, sometimes simply lying next to each other. They didn't speak another word about the ritual. They talked about past years instead, remembering random moments, laughing a bit hysterically over their shared memories. Draco felt quite sure that he was just having the best day of his life.

The plan simply appeared out of nowhere in his mind in the evening, complete, every detail clear. Harry was sitting on his lap, plaiting the long blond fringe with a look of deep concentration. He must have noticed something, a flash of emotion on Draco's face, because he stopped and gave him a questioning look. Draco pressed a quick kiss on his lips and it seemed to reassure him.

The plan was not perfect. It had several very alarming gaps. But Draco knew from bitter experience that even the best and most conscientiously prepared plans did not warrant success in the end. In fact, he had lost confidence in his ability to act out his ideas long ago. But there was no alternative. He had to do something.

He gave Harry another kiss and slid down to a half-sitting, half-lying position, propped on a pillow. Harry seized his opportunity and made himself comfortable in Draco's arms, as if he felt safe there. Draco was overwhelmed with the desire to protect him, the same he had felt the night before when the other boy's soft sobbing woke him up and he saw him shivering in the grip of a nightmare. Now, he hugged Harry as tight as he possibly could, closed his eyes and gave himself up to the dull pain in his chest. He didn't want it to end. But there were more important things to take into account.

"How do you feel?" asked Harry in a low voice.

Draco sighed and tried to relax a bit. "All right, I guess. Tired." He was happy, actually, but the constant weariness was still there. "Will you stay with me?"

"Try to keep me away."

Draco laughed, poking his ribs. He couldn't believe all this was really happening.

He must have fallen asleep then. When he opened his eyes again, the room was dark and there was a blanket as well as Harry's body keeping him warm. He listened to his breathing for some minutes, going over the plan once more in his head. Not tonight. Next night. It had to work. The other plans never worked because he never decided on which side he really stood, what he wanted and what he believed in. Now, he knew.

IV.

"What?"

Harry looked adorable as he blinked sleepily, shielding his eyes from the light of Draco's wand. Half of his hair was flattened to the side, sticking out like porcupine quills. Draco almost gave it up at that moment. There was nothing in the world he wanted more than to lie down and leave it to fate. Instead, he kissed Harry's white shoulder that slipped from the worn out neck of his T-shirt. "I want to go flying. With you."

"Now? What's the time?"

"Half past three."

Harry groaned in exasperation. "You can't be serious."

"Please. I can't sleep, because it's bugging me. I hate to wake you up, but who knows if we ever get another chance to –" There was a flash of pain in Harry's eyes. It was a low blow and Draco knew it. "Okay, no," he said quickly. "It was a stupid idea, forget it. Go back to sleep."

Too late. His plan gained momentum and no one could stop it now.

"No, you're right," said Harry in a husky voice. "If you feel like it… You didn't exactly enjoy it last time."

"Tonight, I will."

They got dressed in the half-light. Draco was very much awake, there were tremors of feverish energy running over his spine and his hands were shaking. Harry moved as if trapped in a waking dream, stumbling and cursing every now and then. When their eyes met, though, he smiled and caressed Draco's cheek shyly. The blond had to bite his lip hard so that he wouldn't start crying.

When they were tiptoeing through the infirmary, Draco noticed two outlines of human figures snuggled under blankets on hospital beds. He eyed them with curiosity. Confined to the unnatural timelessness of the isolation room, he had almost forgotten that outside, life was still going on as usual. Suddenly, with almost clinical detachment, he realized that his relationship with Harry would have practically no chance to survive in the real world. A Death Eater and the Saviour? Not likely. The few days they had been together were just an anomaly.

Harry sticked as close to him as possible under the Invisibility Cloak. The material did not cover them completely and it was annoyingly slippery, so they both had to hold on to it. Harry held his wand in his free hand. Draco kept his safely tucked in the pocket of his jeans. The journey through the deserted hallways to the Entrance Hall seemed ridiculously short compared to the last one.

It was much colder outside. When they arrived at the pitch, Draco was frozen and his teeth were chattering. White clouds of condensed air were rising from Harry's mouth.

"Y-your t-timing is t-truly exc-celent," Harry managed to say, lips apparently numb, as he flicked his wand and pulled Draco close. The Warming Charm surrounded them like hot water, but Draco also felt the pleasant glow around his heart and in his underbelly caused by Harry's hands that had slipped under the countless layers of clothing and stroked his hips and back. He sighed as he gave in to the caress. Father would not be very pleased with him for such a display of submission… He smirked and defiantly put his arms around Harry's neck.

Time always melted away in moments like this. It frightened him. A minute of bliss often turned out to have been half an hour and a day could easily dwindle into a flash. Draco breathed in Harry's scent and pulled away slightly. It was high time to finish this.

"Will you summon the amazing broomstick of yours like when you went against the dragon in the Triwizard Tournament?" he asked lazily and then leaned back against Harry heavily to rest himself. He felt an almost unnatural energy flowing through his muscles but that must have partly been an illusion.

"School brooms not good enough for you?"

"Of course they aren't."

Harry laughed out loud, took his hands out from under Draco's sweatshirts and kissed him with a strange mixture of timidity and passion that Draco still couldn't quite understand. Then he swished his wand. "_Accio_ Firebolt!"

In a couple of seconds, the carefully polished broom went to a graceful stop in front of them.

"Can you do the Glove Charm?" asked Draco.

"Nope. Gryffindors always do everything the way Muggles do, so during the winter we wear the mittens Hermione knits for the house-elves," said Harry with a straight face and whispered another incantation. Draco's hands were immediately immersed in a soft, warm, invisible material. "Hop on."

"No, you go in front."

"But promise me you'll hold on tight."

Draco suddenly felt as if he forgot to do or to say something very important, but Harry was already astride the broom and it was really much too cold for procrastination. In a minute they were high in the air, soaring toward the night sky. Draco held Harry around the waist. It was as breathtaking as when Quidditch was all he ever thought about.

They flew in wide circles around the pitch, each time a bit faster. Then Harry made a loop, plummeted straight down and, just a couple of feet above the ground, pulled out of the dive with a swerve. Draco laughed and burrowed his face into the tousled hair. "Fly high," he whispered. "As high as you can."

The broom started to soar again, this time on a spiral. Draco let go of Harry's waist with one hand, combing his fingers through the bristling black strands. He didn't really feel the hair over the magic glove but he had the texture imprinted on his skin over the past days, so he didn't realize the lack of true sensation. The darkness made it seem as if the whole world was completely empty aside from the distant stars and the almost full moon.

Harry made a last loop and stopped. They were floating in nothingness, far from everything and everyone. When Harry tilted his head back a bit, Draco moved his hands onto Harry's shoulders and brushed his lips over the other boy's jaw. Then he reached for his wand, took it out of the pocket of his jeans and said with an air of calm concentration: _"Immobulus."_

The body pressed flush against his chest grew stiff. Draco made sure that Harry's hands still had a safe grip on the broom handle and tucked his wand into the waistband of Harry's jeans.

"I don't want you to watch me bleed to death," he whispered into Harry's ear and embraced him for the last time. "And I don't want you to hide forever because of me. Farewell, Potter."

Then he let go.

He thought the pain of the frustrated bond would send him to oblivion at once, but it didn't come. He fell for what seemed like forever before the emptiness finally swallowed him.

* * *

Sorry for the cliffie, but it was such a perfect place to break the chapters… If you want to say something very rude to me now, there's the review button below :-)


	6. Chapter 6

I had no idea the little cliffhanger would get you people in such a huff! As a consolation, I added some material to this chapter to make it longer. And again, I'm sorry! I'm not a cruel person, really…

* * *

**Chapter 6**

I.

Hermione was reading, curled up in a comfortable armchair she had Transfigured from a standard straight-backed wooden chair. It was quiet here in the hospital wing, even more than in the library. All beds were empty, except the one she was sitting at, which was separated from the rest of the room with a long screen. It was as if Malfoy had a private place just for himself.

The boy in the bed couldn't care less, though. For days, he remained in a state of deep unconsciousness. Fractured bones, broken ligaments, lacerations and abrasions were healing, but he didn't wake up. Madam Pomfrey said it was just a matter time, but her face betrayed her doubts.

Hermione had already been sitting here before lunch and now again, for most of the afternoon. She could only visit for ten or fifteen minutes at a time on weekdays, but today was Saturday and she could easily spend it here. Ron, Harry and Ginny went out early in the morning to have an all-day Quidditch practice session with the rest of the team. They had some problems with strategy and tactics after Harry's month long absence – or something like that, Hermione didn't really know for sure.

Everything was the same as it always had been. At least that was what they all tried to pretend.

With a sigh, she put away the book, stood up and stretched her arms. Then she carefully sat on the edge of Malfoy's bed and took his hand. It was deathly cold. The blond's face had an ashen grey color and it was gaunt, but strangely calm. As on the first day when she saw him and Harry asleep together, there was a relaxed, soft beauty in his features. If only Harry could see him like this…

But Harry never came here.

She felt she couldn't leave Draco lying here alone. Not after all that had happened. The scene was always on her mind, day and night, as it joined the nightmares she had suffered from since war. It came back to her again now. Ron shaking her out of sleep in the middle of the night, muttering something about Harry's broom flying out of the window all by itself. Walking through dark, silent corridors to the Entrance Hall, their bleary eyes blinded by a flash of white light as they opened the door leading outside and the ghostly form of a giant stag went galloping past them. Sprinting to the pitch and freezing on the spot with terror as, in the yellow gleam of her Lumos spell, they saw Harry kneeling beside a body with limbs bent in unnatural angles, and smelled blood. Then Harry pounding the silvery-haired figure with his fists and screaming as she had never heard him scream before. Lights, voices, quick steps. Ron's face, when he gripped Harry's wrists, twisted them behind his back and dragged him away. The moment Harry went still, his eyes widened and he made another step back, this time of his own volition.

At that moment they realized the bond was broken, the life-debt discharged. But either by sheer luck or some fluke of accidental magic, Draco Malfoy was not dead. Not yet.

Hermione shook her head and took a deep breath. She mustn't let herself dwell on it. She squeezed Malfoy's hand gently and placed it back on the blanket. Before she could rise, though, there came a creak of the door and the sound of steps. She looked up hopefully, but it was not Harry. It wasn't even Luna who fell into the habit of dancing into the hospital wing any time of the day to sing a lullaby to the unfortunate victim of her spell. The person that came out from behind the screen was Ginny.

"Dinner's in half an hour. Are you coming?" she asked in a low voice.

"Sure."

Ginny made a hesitant step forward and stopped by the bed. Once, on the morning after the horrible night, she came to visit Malfoy in the hope that she would finally be able to apologize, but as soon as she saw the motionless body covered with bruises and fresh, angry scars, she burst into tears and fled. Now, she had a strange look in her eyes.

"How was the practice?" asked Hermione, to break the silence.

"Tragic. Harry flew horribly, made mistake after mistake, shouted at everyone and now he's sitting in the common room with Ron, ranting about how much he hates Malfoy and how he ows him nothing at all. If he didn't have circles big as Hagrid's hands under his eyes and didn't go around the school looking like death warmed over, maybe I would even believe him." Ginny leaned over the boy and touched his white-blond hair lightly. "Harry's in love with him, isn't he?"

Hermione bit her lip. She tried to keep her expression neutral but Ginny took her by surprise.

"I thought something was off from the start," Ginny went on, "but today, it all just clicked together. You know, when Harry didn't let me join the Final Battle, I was so angry at him. I hated that he wanted to go and sacrifice himself and leave me here all alone. Well, now Malfoy did the same to him, sacrificed himself to break the bond, and Harry behaves just like I did. He's got it bad, apparently."

"I'm very sorry," whispered Hermione.

"Oh, it's all right. I don't mind. If it were another girl, I would probably be jealous, but when it's like this…" Then, to Hermione's astonishment, she laughed. "In fact, it was me who got them together! Merlin, they'll make a fabulous couple. Gorgeous, too."

"You think Harry will come around?"

"Sure he will. Give him a few days."

"Draco may not _have_ a few days."

The smile disappeared from Ginny's face. She reached out again and ran her fingers through Malfoy's fringe. Both girls contemplated the situation in silence and they were so deep in thought that they missed the door creaking again and looked up only when they heard a soft shuffling along with heavy steps. A moment later, a ginger cat hopped up on the bed, padded over the white blanket and gave a self-important "miaow". A similarly ginger head peeked over the screen.

"Are you two coming to dinner any time soon?" asked Ron in a disgruntled tone. Then he noticed Ginny's hand, still caressing Malfoy's hair absent-mindedly, and yelped: "No, not you too! As if it wasn't enough that Hermione's all crazy about the sodding git! It's some kind of Dark spell, I'm telling you." Then he snorted and muttered: "Girls. At least Harry's still reasonable."

The girls exchanged looks and, despite their prior seriousness, dissolved into giggles. Hermione reached out her hand to touch the incredibly soft hair too. Then she took a sharp breath. Crookshanks was standing on Malfoy's chest, twitching his tail in a displeased way and poking the boy's face with his paw. Hermione wanted to snatch him away quickly but then she noticed the blond scrunching his nose and muttering something. She gasped. Malfoy opened his eyes and blinked.

"Sweet Merlin," he whined weakly. "Gryffindors. I'm in hell."

II.

Harry was dragging his spoon back and forth through the porridge in the bowl in front of him. The Great Hall was still almost empty, most students and teachers trying to snatch some more minutes of precious sleep on Monday morning and put off their return to the annoying treadmill of weekdays as much as possible. Harry, on the contrary, had been awake for many hours. He had a short nap between eleven and midnight and when he eventually gave up his efforts to go back to sleep, it was half past two in the morning and his temples were pounding and eyes burning from all the dark thoughts that milled around in his head.

He had no idea how he managed to fuck this up so thoroughly.

He should have gone to see Draco at once. But he had been angry – and also afraid. He didn't know he would feel so utterly lost without him after a month spent together in a tiny bare room and on the same bed. He missed Draco, and not just because he was so hopelessly in love with him. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch. Draco Malfoy really got under his skin this time and it scared Harry to death.

So he didn't go to see him. When he couldn't sleep at night, which was most of the time, he took the Invisibility Cloak and went to sit in the corridor in front of the hospital wing door, but he never went inside.

In the deepest corner of his heart, he knew what his most terrible fear was. He didn't want to lean over Draco to find that he had stopped breathing.

And then, the day before yesterday, Draco woke up and Harry wasn't there – and Harry knew Draco would never ever forgive him for that.

"Couldn't sleep again, mate?" said Ron's voice, still gritty this early in the morning. The gangly red-head took a seat opposite to Harry. The bench was too narrow and low for him now, and he nearly lifted the whole table as he rammed his knees under the desk.

"Yeah," murmured Harry. Ron was a source of blessed relief for him all through the horrible week. His dislike of Malfoy hadn't diminished in the slightest even after the Slytherin had willingly sacrificed himself so that Harry could go on with his life. And as ranting had always been a reliable way to vent conflicting, incomprehensible emotions, Harry clung to it desperately and tried to go back to their old ways. It seemed decidedly better than giving in to the desire to beat someone to a pulp or start crying and blab out his secret to the whole Gryffindor house.

"I thought I'd better check on you," said Ron with a yawn. "But when I'm here, I can just as well eat something." He started to pile a small mountain of bacon on his plate, gobbling down a few strips right away. "I don't know why we _always_ have Potions first thing on Monday," he grumbled with his mouth full.

Harry gave an emphatic nod and at once started to feel more normal. He pushed the untouched cold porridge aside and reached for the bacon too. He stopped having it for breakfast during the previous weeks because the smell made Malfoy sick. There. He would take it a step at a time and maybe it wouldn't hurt so much. Everything would be the same as it always had been.

A sharp pang in his chest reminded him that he wasn't really sure he wanted it to be like that.

Ron went on, criticising Slughorn's questionable teaching methods with great relish and adding a couple of sausages and an alarming amount of scrambled eggs to the bacon. Harry found out that he didn't like the stench of burnt fat anymore too, so he began to play with a piece of toast, crumbling it in his fingers absently. He nodded and made appropriate noises, thinking hard about what the hell he was going to do. He wasn't really angry anymore and he missed Draco so much that sometimes he even heard his voice in his head, like now…

"Merlin's beard!" croaked Ron. "It's official. He's gone off the rails!"

Harry turned, blinked and blood rushed to his head so fast his vision went black for a moment. When it cleared again, he saw the same thing as before. Draco Malfoy just entered the Great Hall, walking slowly and a bit stiffly. A small girl with dark plaits held his hand. Harry recognized her immediately, it was the new Slytherin Seeker he saw on Thursday when he was spying on the rival team's practice. She looked up to her older classmate with adoring eyes and Draco was talking to her with a faint smile. His skin seemed almost translucent against the dark green school robes and there were dark circles under his eyes, matching with the dark grey eyeliner and thick layer of mascara. However, the most striking thing was the pink stripe in his freshly cut, yet still ridiculously long fringe.

Harry couldn't breathe. His body tingled from head to toe, his heart beat erratically and he was unable to move. His thoughts, however, were crystal clear.

"If his dad saw him like this, he would come up with a fourth Unforgivable on the spot," said Ron, watching the spectacle with a mix of awe and disapproval.

"That's exactly the reason he does it, you know," said Harry shakily.

He spoke too loud. Draco whipped his head around to the Gryffindor table, his eyes widened and he stumbled. Fortunately, the little Seeker held his hand tight, else he would surely have fallen. Harry moved forward automatically. It was _his_ job to help Draco.

Then he stopped. They were not in isolation anymore. There was no spell, bonding them together. They never talked of what they were going to do when it was over.

They kept staring at each other. Harry expected the silver eyes to get all cold, impassive and shuttered as mirrors, but they only darkened more, swirling with emotion. Then Draco blinked.

Harry wasn't sure why he recalled the first real conversation they ever had at that moment. He simply did and there was the one thing he knew Draco wanted to have in the future. Well, he was going to give it to him. At once.

"I'll be right back," he said and sprinted out of the Great Hall.

III.

Hermione's head was buzzing. She met Luna on her way to the Great Hall and despite the fact that she liked her a lot and thought her a good friend, the strictly scientific part of her brain refused to cooperate sometimes, repeating "There are no Crumple-Horned Snorkacks!" over and over.

They were almost at the door when Harry saved her, dashing out of the Hall like mad and shooting between them, making them jump away and stumble. Hermione grabbed the sleeve of his robes reflexively, but he didn't slow down and nearly dragged her along with him. "Sorry!" he blurted, breathing hard. "I'm in a hurry." Then he jerked the sleeve out of her slack grip and shot away, disappearing round the corner.

Hermione stared after him, completely baffled, till a voice next to her said: "Wrackspurt attack."

She glanced at Luna, who gazed in the same direction, head tilted to the side. For the first time in her life, Hermione thought Luna could be right.

They entered the Great Hall together. Hermione saw Ron at the Gryffindor table. Her heart made a little joyful leap and she started toward him, but before she walked two steps, Luna exclaimed in delight. "Draco!"

Hermione turned to the Slytherin table and her heart made another leap, this time for very different reasons. She had a short talk with Malfoy after he woke up, but then Madam Pomfrey kicked them all out of the hospital wing and didn't allow any more visitors for the rest of the weekend so that he could rest. Hermione worried about him so much, that it surprised her. And now he was standing here, pale and wasted, but alive and on his own feet. She felt an unexpected urge to run to him and hug him in the same way she would hug Harry after a long stint in the infirmary, but she managed to stop herself and simply gave him a hesitant smile. No matter what had happened recently, he was still Draco Malfoy and no one could guess what was going on in his head.

Apparently, Luna had no such scruples. She went to Draco, rose on tiptoes and gave him a quick peck on a cheek. "I'm so glad you are back," she said.

Her clear voice carried in the suddenly silent hall and when Hermione broke her half-shocked, half-amused gaze from Malfoy's stunned expression, she noticed that everyone else in the room was staring as well. Oddly enough, the stares were mostly confused or curious, not hostile. Then she realized that most of the students who had come to breakfast so early were from the first or second year. It only made sense that they either didn't know Malfoy very well or didn't recognize him because of the make-up and the different hairstyle.

Then Draco broke the silence. "Thank you," he said in a reserved tone. He didn't smile, but there was no trace of mockery or sarcasm in his voice either.

Hermione felt a sudden rush of relief, which unfortunately proved a little premature as Luna decided to continue the conversation. "And I'm very sorry for what I did. You know what. It was stupid," she added gravely.

Draco hesitated. "It's all right. Forget it," he said.

Luna's face brightened. She reached to her neck and took off a necklace adorned with lots of candy-floss pink feathers. "Here, take this. It goes better with your hair than with mine." She pulled the gaudy thing over his head and skipped to the Ravenclaw table.

Ron started to laugh and soon almost the whole Great Hall joined him. Hermione supressed a twitch of her lips as she sent Malfoy a look of apology. The blond's cheeks were stained pink, but he managed to keep his aristocratic countenance and posture. He nodded in Hermione's direction, flicked his hair and bent down to whisper something to the small girl who was holding his hand all the time and glared at everyone. They sat down, their backs turned to the rest of the students and started to talk in hushed voices over a shared plate of pancakes.

Hermione whacked her boyfriend between the shoulder blades when his convulsive laughter turned into a bout of hiccups and she smiled to herself. Apparently, Draco Malfoy was getting a bit of his former attitude back. It was surprisingly nice to see. And when she recalled the glint in Harry's eyes as he rushed Merlin knows where from the Great Hall, she got a feeling that this particular problem would be resolved very soon too.

The only thing that troubled her now was how on earth was she going to explain it to Ron.

IV.

Draco was sitting on his carefully folded school robes, back propped against the brickwork base of greenhouse number three, and toyed with the feather necklace that really went quite well with his hair. Emily Waters, his temporary guardian, had Herbology in a greenhouse further down the row. She was to take him to lunch and back to the hospital wing afterwards. Madam Pomfrey let Draco out only under the condition that he would not make a step unsupervised and skip a single meal, and Emily took her patrol duty very seriously. From some inexplicable reason, she belonged to the few chosen people Draco was willing to obey without much fuss. It had been that way since the moment the Sorting Hat sent her to Slytherin at the beginning of last year and she went to sit right next to him, giving him a tight-lipped smile eerily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall.

It was nice to feel the touch of sun on his face after long weeks of confinement. It would have been even nicer if there were other things on his mind than Harry Potter.

Harry didn't come to see him. Draco heard the Weaselette say that he was angry and that he would get over it, but he wasn't so sure about it. They were back in the real world. There were hundreds of eyes following Harry's every step and Draco had a Dark Mark on his forearm and parents locked up in Azkaban. Everything was different now they were free.

He straightened his shoulders and hissed. Not even magic could heal dozens of broken bones and tendons without a good amount of pain. In fact, his right ankle would probably never be completely fine. Draco closed his eyes and breathed out slowly, trying to relax the stiff muscles around his spine. Then he leaned against the brick wall again and smiled. He had never realized how much of a burden the life-debt had been. As strange as it would seem, he felt quite happy now. Or would have felt so, if only Harry came back…

"Hi," said a soft voice.

Draco felt cold and then hot. "Hi," he replied as he opened his eyes.

Harry was standing several feet from him, hair messed up, robes wrinkled and all askew. He was holding something in his arms. "This is for you," he said as he stepped closer. Then he got down on his knees and laid a small white kitten on Draco's lap. "It's a girl."

Draco blinked, looked at the kitten, then at Harry, then back at the kitten. There were butterflies in his stomach. He couldn't breathe and felt extremely stupid and a bit disgruntled for not being able to say a word. Eventually, he tickled the wide-eyed white thing between the ears and took it in his hands.

"When I saw you in the morning I remembered you saying that you were going to get a kitten, all white, as soon as it's over," said Harry, apparently nervous. "I went to Hogsmeade, but there were no white kittens to be had, so I had to Apparate to Diagon Alley. McGonagall's going to rip my head off, but I don't care."

"Does she have a name?" managed Draco finally, his voice faltering.

"No. She's yours, you name her."

Draco put the kitten back on his lap. It sniffed his fingers warily. He recollected in a vague manner that he used to have a very long list of ingenious and appropriately grand Malfoy cat names written out on a scroll of parchment when he was a boy, but it didn't help him much now, because there was not a single clear thought left in his head, save that Harry was kneeling beside him, unneccessarily close.

He must have appeared completely clueless because Harry cleared his throat and mumbled: "You could call her Lyra, you know. It's a constellation right next to Draco."

The butterflies came back with a vengeance and words refused to string together into sentences again. Draco was flustered and he didn't like it. He lifted Lyra to his chest, cradled her on one arm and started to pet her. His hair flopped down in his face and he tilted his head down to hide more effectually, but he hadn't been prepared for the hand that combed his fringe back.

"I know I should stop apologizing, but I'm really sorry that I wasn't there when you woke up," said Harry in a low voice, playing with the blond strands which kept slipping between his fingers. "I was so afraid."

"Of what?" asked Draco, the two syllables costing him quite an effort.

"Of losing you."

Draco looked up without thinking because he felt the words caressing his cheek. Harry's lips were so close that he simply had to kiss them.

It was hard to decide what was more pleasant, whether the soft weight of the purring kitten on his chest, the feeling of fingers combing through his hair or the lazy duel of tongue against tongue. He wanted to bring Harry closer but they would have crushed Lyra between them, so he simply surrendered to whatever the other boy did. He didn't even flinch when Harry digged his nails in the back of his neck and bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, only making a muffled sound of protest when he grabbed his shoulders and shook him.

Harry let him go at once and took a couple of deep breaths. "And I'm mad at you too. So mad that I would wring your neck on the spot if I didn't want you alive so much."

Draco licked his lips and tasted the metallic tang on his tongue. "It was the only option and you bloody know it," he muttered and glanced down to Lyra who was blissfully asleep in the crook of his elbow.

"There were _dozens_ of options, ferret. The trouble is that you're as much of a stubborn idiot as I am," hissed Harry. "Do you have any idea what it was like for me? Don't you think I had enough of watching people fall into the darkness? How dare you immobilize me the same way Dumbledore did?"

"Shhhh. You'll wake Lyra."

Harry started to say something, then chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. Draco shot him a glare, but as soon as he met the shining green eyes, he wasn't able to look away. He felt his face reddening. Whyever was he ashamed of being in love when he and Harry were – what exactly were they?

"What do you want to do now?" he asked in a strictly noncommital tone.

"Get the cat out of the way and take her place."

Draco fought down a rush of hope and rolled his eyes. "Don't you dare. There are pieces of me that only just managed to grow together."

"Are you going to be all right?" asked Harry, clearly worried.

"Give me a few days, but yes." Draco reached his free hand to put it on Harry's knee. "What do you want to do now?" he repeated the question.

"I want to be with you. That is, if you want it too," said Harry.

The rush of hope was back, threatening to break out all over and do away with Draco's self-control for good. "It would be a horrible scandal."

"We can take it. People will get used to us. We have a whole school-year to go, anyway, no one will give us trouble here. And afterwards… well, we'll see."

"Afterwards?" Draco laughed softly. "You think we'll stick together for so long?"

Harry grinned. "Want to make a bet?"

"How much money are we talking about? I'm not exactly rich lately."

"I didn't really have money on my mind," whispered Harry and started to lean closer, but Draco nodded towards the sleeping kitten, pointedly raising his brows. Harry groaned. "I should have thought better of this stupid cat idea. And what the hell is that pink thing on your neck?"

Draco smiled. Suddenly, hope seemed to be just everywhere.

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Happy now? There's a short epilogue coming, and it will come sooner, if you leave some reviews :-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7 – ****Epilogue**

Harry took a sip of pumpkin juice and was just reaching for a plate of blueberry pancakes when the _Daily Prophet_ delivery owl landed right next to his elbow. The newspaper was meant for Hermione, of course – he would never buy the rag, let alone get a subscription – but the owl nipped his finger, so he sullenly found a few coins in his pocket and put them in the pouch on the bird's leg. As the owl flew away, he glanced at the front page. Then he blinked. Then took a deep breath, shook his head and looked at the page again.

He stood up and slowly walked to the Slytherin table, feeling the eyes of everyone in the Great Hall watching him. It was unusually crowded for a Saturday morning. Harry, however, only saw one person.

"Malfoy," he said in a very low voice.

Draco was sitting with his back to the other tables. His narrow shoulders went visibly rigid, but he didn't turn around. The little Seeker girl next to him stole a nervous glance at Harry, moved a bit to the side to leave a gap between her and the blond and, with a look of great concentration, started to pet the white kitten lying comfortably splayed among the plates, cups and goblets.

Harry unfolded the newspaper and cleared his throat. "'Harry Potter has always been my best enemy,' says Draco Malfoy," he read out aloud, pronouncing every word with emphasis. The hall, silent and alert all of a sudden, echoed with the sound of his voice.

Draco slowly put down his lavishly buttered toast, stood up and faced Harry. His fringe, dyed black and turquoise for the weekend, flopped over his silver-framed eyes. All the shades exactly matched the colors on his hooded sweatshirt with a dragon embroidered on the front. He crossed his arms on his chest and leaned on the table. "That's the only reference to you in the whole interview, Potter," he said in a cold, unemotional tone.

"So you're giving interviews to the _Daily Prophet_ now." Harry seemed very calm, but the air around him shimmered.

"This is the first and the last one."

"And it didn't occur to you that I possibly might have liked to know about it before the bloody rag landed on top of my breakfast."

"No one forces you to read it. And if I have told you, you would never have allowed it."

With a crash, a glass shattered on the Slytherin table. Harry didn't take his eyes from Draco's. "You bet I wouldn't have allowed it. For fuck's sake, we have been on the front page every day for a month now, all insinuations and lies, and you go to them behind my back and _give them an interview_?" He spoke the last words through his teeth.

"That's exactly the point!" snapped Draco all of a sudden, uncrossed his arms and clenched his hands into fists. "I'm sick of reading all the crap about how Voldemort's youngest underling corrupted our innocent Saviour, just because you don't want to talk to anyone from the press about us! So I told the truth about myself, and only myself, and made sure they print it word by word! The headline was the only concession. It's about war, not about you and –"

"I don't give a fuck what it's about!" This time a plate on the Hufflepuff table cracked and burst into shards. "How dare you consort with the _Daily Prophet_?"

"I'll do whatever I want to do," hissed Draco. "I'm not at your beck and call."

At the staff table, Headmistress McGonagall rose and prepared herself to speak, but before she could do so, Harry tilted his head to the side and said: "Because you're not my girlfriend?"

Draco flicked his fringe and narrowed his eyes. "We've already made it _very_ clear that we're both boys."

Before anyone could as much as blink, Harry was kneeling on the bench, fingers buried in the silky blond hair, kissing Draco as if the world was coming to an end. Emily Waters and other Slytherin little girls started to giggle and someone wolf-whistled. Draco laughed into the kiss, wrapped his arms around Harry, tipped him back and slid both his hands in the back pockets of Harry's jeans.

Everyone watched the scene with avid interest and nobody noticed the three people standing in the entrance door. Ron stared at the Slytherin table with an unusual mixture of incomprehension and fascination, Hermione had her lips pressed in a thin line and Ginny, with an alarming gleam in her eyes, was standing on tiptoes and craning her neck to get a better view.

"Harry…" croaked Ron when his best friend's hands left the blond hair to burrow under the dragon sweatshirt. "Harry is groping Malfoy in the Great Hall. Again."

"We can see that, Ron," said Hermione briskly. "That's exactly the kind of behaviour I was trying to discourage when I insisted they don't sit together at meals. As if it wasn't enough that the whole Ravenclaw team walked in on them in the Quidditch locker-room last week."

"Oh, shut up, you two," grumbled Ginny and pushed around her brother without taking her eyes from the boys. "Perhaps it escaped your notice, but nobody minds it anymore. Merlin, Harry never jumped me this way! _I_ always had to do all the work. At least I know why now."

Headmistress McGonagall cleared her throat so loudly that it sounded like a crack of a whip. Draco shot her a look and smirked as he let Harry go. He sat on the bench next to the other boy, whispered something in his ear, pressed as close to his side as possible and glanced around the Great Hall haughtily. Finally, he petted his cat, smiled at Emily and asked her something. Harry leaned his head on Draco's shoulder and started to read the head article on the front page of the crumpled newspaper.

Ginny gave a disappointed huff and sat down at the Gryffindor table. Ron and Hermione stayed at the door for a while longer.

"My own little sister gets off on watching them," whined Ron.

His girlfriend squeezed his hand in a soothing manner. "Well, they really look good together," she said.

Ron groaned. "Wait till I find the proof that the bloody ferret-face Confunded you all! You can say what you want but it simply must be a –"

At that moment Harry put the newspaper down, reached for Draco's left hand, pushed the sleeve of the turquoise sweatshirt down and pressed his lips on the black mark etched into the pale skin. The other boy turned his head sharply and flinched as if a snake bit him, but then he met Harry's eyes and his alarmed expression melted into a sad smile. Harry let his fingers slip over the Dark Mark in a caress and for a span of a heartbeat, they both seemed brittle as glass.

Ron goggled at them, open-mouthed. Then he turned to Hermione. "It – it _must_ be a spell," he whimpered, all his previous certainty gone. "Mione?"

Hermione squeezed his hand again.

Ron heaved a heart-felt sigh. Then he shrugged his shoulders in resignation and went to eat some breakfast.

**The End**

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**Author's Note:** So, it's over. I'm so grateful to everyone who took the time to review! You gave me the motivation to go on, no matter how inadequate I felt. Thank you!


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